Anything You Want
by motleygrrrl
Summary: When Harry returns to Hogwarts for his eighth and final year, he is no longer sure of anything—what he wants, where he's headed, why smiling is now so difficult. All he knows for certain is that he no longer wants to be with Ginny. And why can't he stop dreaming about grey eyes?
1. Chapter 1

So, this story has been up for a little while already, but it has been mentioned that it would be easier to read if it was split into chapters, and I do have to admit, a 70,000-word one-shot is a bit extreme. And I live to please! So, without any further ado, I give you...chapters!

p.s. I lied about the lack of ado. Real quick WARNING: Like all of my other stories, the following is rated M for profanity and sexual content of the super gay kind. You have been warned, and the ado is once again no more.

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oOo

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It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It was supposed to be easy; it was supposed to fun, simple, relaxed. It was supposed to be a year of school, Harry's final year—his _only_ year—without the heavy threat of Voldemort looming over him, following him between classrooms and mealtimes like some haunting sort of snake-faced storm cloud.

It was not supposed to be like _this._

If he was being honest with himself, Harry had assumed that by now, given this much time after the final blow had been dealt and the fighting finally ceased, after Harry was allowed to lay down his wand after years of struggle and finally just _rest_ , he had hoped he would have achieved some sort of inner peace within himself. He was supposed to be settled and content, at ease with himself; he was supposed to be happy—he was supposed to have gotten back together with Ginny.

He was not supposed to feel this constant, creeping sort of numb weighing down his every limb, blanketing him beneath a heavy, apathetic quilt of indifferent exhaustion, oftentimes making it difficult just to find the energy to drag himself out of bed in the mornings. What was the point anymore? It was hard to remember. He was not sure what it was he should be feeling, but he knew with certainty that it was not how far removed and distant from everything he actually felt, as if the war had severed all the strings tying him to the earth and he was now floating high above his own head watching his life play itself out.

And it was _boring._

Harry was bored with his own existence. Classes were dull, homework was tedious, even the faces around him had taken on an almost grayish-tinge, as though he was seeing them all through some sort of thick drab veil, casting the world in a colorless gloom. It felt like a banal tedium had settled heavily into his very bones, leaving him feeling nothing more than an enveloping apathy that gave him the sense of slowly being drained.

Harry should have known the year was going to be shit the day after classes began and McGonagall announced to the consternation of his classmates that eighth-years would not be allowed to join House Quidditch teams. Ron had sat next to him in utter silence, gaping at her in horror for several minutes before he turned and mouthed wordlessly at Harry. "Ha…but…H-Har…" he stammered, seeming unable to get his friend's full name out.

Hermione tsked and lowered her book, her gaze hard across the table. "Ronald Weasley, I know you will be able to find better use for your time outside of protecting hoops from a rubber ball." His mouth, if possible, dropped even wider. "After all, you both went months without it not too long ago without your worlds collapsing."

Ron's jaw snapped shut tightly and he seemed to finally find his voice at last. "Hermione, that's exactly why I was looking forward to it so much! Because of how long it's been since we last played!" His words were accompanied by wild gesturing.

Hermione stared disapprovingly at him and Harry knew she wasn't convinced. "Aren't you both a little old for games anyway? I mean, don't they seem rather trivial and commonplace after everything?"

Ron gaped at her.

Harry remained silent, poking at his eggs in quiet indifference. Truthfully, he sided with Hermione. Quidditch _did_ seem unimportant and inconsequential after everything they had seen and gone through. It was hard to get excited over the idea of it—just as hard as it was to feel angry over not being allowed to play. In fact, Harry was finding it harder and harder to feel much of anything anymore.

The silence stretched into full minutes until he looked up and realized that both Ron and Hermione were staring at him, waiting for some sort of response. Clearing his throat, he shrugged and returned his somewhat scattered attention back to his mostly-full plate.

Ron was silent for a full twenty-seven seconds before turning back to Hermione and beginning to lecture her on the multitudes of both the mental and physical benefits of playing Quidditch—all of which she responded to by huffing and disappearing once more behind her thick leather textbook.

Unable to continue feigning interest in his food, Harry sighed and stood. "I'll see you guys in class," he mumbled as he slung his bag over his shoulder and left, avoiding their wounded eyes and their concern. As he slunk toward the exit, Harry ducked his head before glancing over, unable to help himself and unable to care enough to try as he looked over to the Slytherin table.

To where _he_ sat.

A cool grey stare met his own and Harry felt a startled jolt in his midsection at both the eye contact and being caught staring. Feeling the ghost of a blush threaten to stain his cheeks, he glanced away, unsure of what to make of the exchange. Harry hadn't felt heat rush through his body like that since before—before the world had imploded into full-blown violence and bloodshed and death. Before he had died.

Feeling the fierce stare piercing his back—good lord, was his heart actually _hammering_?—Harry quickened his stride and, finally reaching the exit, yanked the doors open sharply only to stumble into a solid body, suddenly enveloping him in a very familiar flowery scent. Hands shot out to steady him as he choked around a mouthful of red hair. "Hullo, Harry," an amused voice said. He stared at the pale fingers encircling his upper arms for a second before glancing up into affectionate brown eyes.

"Ginny."

She released her grip on his arms only to encircle them a moment later with her own as she wrapped him in a warm hug. Copper hair tickled his nose as she leaned in and whispered, "How did you sleep?" into his ear.

Fighting the urge to step back and break her embrace, he instead lifted his hands to rest them lightly on her hips, just as he had so often in the past, silently pleading with himself to draw some sort of comfort from the familiar warmth of her soft touch.

"Fine," he lied, willing her to believe it and drop her arms, the latter of which she had yet to do. She pulled back slightly without releasing him to look him in the eye.

"I'm glad." Brown eyes gazed into his, far too close for his comfort and he felt a slight panic begin to build; he had to escape her stare. In an attempt to avoid it he turned his head away, only to be frozen by a different sort of gaze altogether.

Draco Malfoy was staring at him intensely, gaze fierce even from a distance, grey eyes boring into Harry's own sharply. The panic grew to an alarming level and he struggled for a moment with his frozen body—willing it to move, step back, drop his light hold on Ginny, _anything._

He heard her begin to speak and was able to finally break eye contact with Malfoy, head whipping around to cut off her words before she could complete them. "We—"

 _Should talk,_ he finished internally with a cringe. They really did need to talk. _But not now,_ he thought almost hysterically. "Sorry, Gin, I have to go…I have to…talk to Flitwick." His hands released her hips as if burnt and he practically ran past her into the safety of the Entrance Hall, legs refusing to stop pumping until he reached the empty Charms corridor. Shaking—with exhaustion or anxiety, he wasn't sure—Harry rested against the wall for a moment before sliding to the floor and wrapping his arms around his knees.

He couldn't keep this up for much longer—avoiding Ginny, running from her every time she came near or opened her mouth. It wasn't very nice, but he just wasn't ready to talk to her, wasn't ready to say the words he could no longer deny. He wasn't ready to see the hurt on her face when he told her that he no longer wanted to be with her. And if he was being honest with himself, it had been a very long time since he had felt any desire towards her.

At first, their relationship had been brilliant. It had been a source of light for him in the darkness of his life at the time. Everything had been so painful and terrifying; he had still been struggling with the loss of Sirius and had begun learning about Voldemort far too intimately, coupled with his usual near-death experiences, schoolwork, and a Quidditch captaincy—not to mention all the fucking articles, rumors, and occasional attempts to slip him love potions—had all left him feeling isolated and miserable. The only times he hadn't felt like everything was spinning out of control were the stolen moments in Ginny's arms. She would hold him close and whisper in his ear, trail her fingers lightly over his bare skin. Her laugh would never fail to bring a smile to his face and her kisses used to give him hope. But now…

The danger was gone, Voldemort was dead; most of the Death Eaters had been killed or captured, with the Ministry dealing much harsher punishments than they did the first time around. Lucius Malfoy was given no leniency this time around for faking servitude under the Imperius.

But now that everything was over and Harry was finally, after eighteen years, _finally_ allowed freedom to have what he wanted, he was at a loss. What did he want? Ginny's kisses no longer stirred passion within him; they no longer held hope or a promise of a brighter future. They felt empty. Hollow. The hope was now unnecessary and the brighter future he had prayed so fervently for had finally arrived. And yet, it was turning out so differently from what he had expected.

His breathing finally began to slow as he forced himself to ponder what he _did_ want, drawing a frustrating blank. Thoughts swirled through his mind of Ginny's smile and warm supple hands, smoothed from years of playing Quidditch, her voice whispering his name from beneath him, her sharp gasps and high-pitched cries and the way she would arch into him; the comfort he once found in her embrace. With a pang of guilt, he shook his head, shelving the memories and knowing for certain that that was no longer a desire.

Well, that answered what he _didn't_ want. How about what he actually _did?_ The memory of breakfast surged once again to the forefront of his mind. From behind closed eyelids still pressed firmly against his knees from his seated position on the stone floor, grey eyes bored into his own. Malfoy's eyes. In the Great Hall, he had been too far to be able to read the emotions within them, but the sheer intensity emanating from the silvery depths had been all too clear and Harry shivered at the remembrance.

Those eyes had arrived at Hogwarts at the start of term with only Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson to represent the Slytherin eighth years. The night of the welcoming feast the doors to the Great Hall had been thrown wide and silence had fallen as the three Slytherins were noticed and appraised. Malfoy stood tall and stared right back at the students eyeing him—some with curiosity or surprise, others with blatant hostility. His back was stiff, and he drew his cloak tighter around himself before sweeping gracefully to the far Slytherin table, Zabini and Parkinson following closely behind.

Long after everyone else had averted their attention, Harry kept his eyes fixed on the blond. He had not been expecting Malfoy to show his face that term. Truthfully, he had not given it much thought. He had spoken at Malfoy's trial, had mentioned the Manor and how recognizable he had been—even with Hermione's Stinging Hex in effect—when Malfoy had pretended to be unable to identify him. He had also detailed the ways in which Malfoy's wand had been imperative in defeating Voldemort. That coupled with Malfoy's age had swayed the Wizengamot in favor of a lighter sentence, the conditions of which Harry had not bothered to pay attention to after hearing that no jail time was to be served.

After the trial had ended he had approached the blond, who was still sitting on the hard bench in a state of shock rubbing the imprints of the handcuffs on his wrists absently. Startled grey eyes flashed to meet his, for once devoid of any anger or vitriol. Harry fumbled in his pocket for a moment before pulling a wand from the dark folds. He handed it over to Malfoy with a mumbled _this is yours_ and shaking pale fingers reached out slowly to grasp it. As the skin of the pale digits connected with the wood, Malfoy inhaled sharply, and Harry felt a pang of guilt for not returning it sooner. His mouth opened to say something, but he did not get the chance.

"Harry!" Kingsley Shacklebolt strode over and clapped him casually on the shoulder. The Minister stared hard at the wand held loosely—almost disbelievingly—in Malfoy's fingers before giving him a nod and turning back to Harry. The Minister had then practically swept him away from the thin blond, talking about upcoming trials and asking Harry's views on more than one matter. Being asked his opinion by the Minister for Magic had left Harry feeling uncomfortable and unsettled, but he had answered as honestly as he could. Malfoy had disappeared shortly after and Harry did not understand the loss he felt about not having said goodbye before he vanished. What if he joined his mother in France and Harry never saw him again?

Yet despite his temporary panic over the idea of never again seeing his childhood nemesis, the blond was more or less put from his mind. Until the first of September, that is. In the days that followed, the school slowly began to accept and tolerate the presence of the older Slytherins. It wasn't that hard really, seeing as one rarely heard any sound from the three. They kept their eyes averted and their hands down in class, speaking only to each other and only in hushed tones. Once, Harry heard a sharp shriek of laughter from Parkinson, but it was quickly shushed by the other two, who had glanced around guiltily as though expecting some sort of punishment for daring to laugh. Malfoy's eyes had connected with his for a heartbeat before Harry turned away.

Then again, a week later, Harry had rounded a corner in the library only to come face-to-face with a startled Malfoy. They had both frozen automatically and stared at each other for long moments, neither saying a word. Harry wasn't sure what he felt as he gazed into the silvery depths of Malfoy's eyes. Gone was the animosity he once felt towards the insufferable blond—there was simply no hatred left to feel for the boy who had once actively made his life a living hell. Not after everything he had seen Malfoy go through, or the way he had held his head high as his father was sentenced to life in Azkaban, eyes bright with tears that Malfoy blinked back, never allowing a single one to fall; tears that Harry had never been sure sprang from sadness or relief. He had no idea how Malfoy felt about his father, or how he felt about anything, really. All he knew was that he could no longer hate the silver-eyed Slytherin. Especially not after seeing those grey eyes wide with fear, sunk deeply into a too-thin face, framed by blackened circles and sharp cheekbones and yet still refusing to identify him.

Malfoy began opening his mouth and the moment was broken as Harry swiftly sidestepped him and all but ran away. He wasn't sure what Malfoy had been planning to say, nor did he intend to find out. It wouldn't make a difference; nothing anybody had said so far had made any difference.

He was pretty much resigned to the fact that it would be this way forever.

Spine stiff from his position, Harry shifted on the floor of the corridor and lifted his head with a sigh—only to have his body freeze once more in shock. The corridor was no longer empty. Grey eyes, the same grey eyes he had just been thinking about, stared into his own from only several feet away. When the hell had the Slytherin gotten so damn quiet? Harry thought about running away again, but it was far too un-Gryffindorly to make a habit of.

Malfoy shrugged off his book bag and set it on the ground before walking to Harry's side and cautiously sinking down to sit next to him, studying Harry intently. The expression on Malfoy's face was inscrutable and Harry figured he may as well take the opportunity to study the blond as blatantly as he himself was being stared at.

Feeling somewhat bold now that he had given himself permission to look, Harry's eyes narrowed as he swept his green gaze over the pale, perfect skin of the other boy, taking in the delicate, angular cheekbones, thin arched eyebrows, straight nose, and finally his pale, pouty lips, parted just slightly. His features seemed less pointed than when he had been younger, somehow softening just enough to appear noticeably different. Malfoy's silver-blond hair was also different—instead of his usual slicked back look he had worn in the past almost religiously, his hair now fell loose and soft around his face, covering his forehead and ears as though he longed to hide behind it, grow it long enough to act as a shield between himself and the world. The strands swept gently over his eyebrows and Harry's fingers twitched as he fought the urge to sweep the fringe aside and tuck it behind one ear.

At the thought, he shook himself internally. He did _not_ want to touch Draco Malfoy's hair.

The Slytherin simply sat and stared at him, as if he had forgotten whatever it was he had been intending to say. Harry remained silent as well. All the questions he had been wondering all term about the blond seemed to melt from his brain now that he was actually near him. Malfoy bit his lip nervously and the action drew Harry's eye, instantly snapping him back into reality.

"Is it okay?" he blurted. Malfoy stared at him in surprised confusion. "I mean…well…does it, you know…work…okay?" The confusion on the other boy's face grew more pronounced. "Your wand, I mean." Harry ducked his head and flushed. What was wrong with him, how fucking hard was it to speak like a normal person?

At the explanation, Malfoy's expression cleared. "Oh, it's fine." For some reason he also dropped his gaze and colored, drawing Harry's notice to the delicate pink of his blush, not to mention the unknown reason behind it.

"It works the same as before, then?"

Malfoy nodded before glancing around and leaning towards Harry, who instinctively leaned closer as well. "I just…um…look, Potter…" He paused and combed a hand lightly through his hair, the silky locks falling perfectly back into place as his fingers raked through them. "I just wanted to say…" He took a deep breath. "Thank you."

Harry blinked in surprise. Out of everything he had expected to come out of the blond's mouth, gratitude had not been on the list. "Thank you?" he echoed.

Malfoy took another deep breath. "Yes. Thank you. Thank you for returning my wand to me. And thank you for speaking at my trial." The last statement was delivered in a rush as if it was difficult to force the words past his lips.

Harry knew he should say something, should accept the thanks, but he could only stare in shock. Never before had he heard Malfoy utter anything even remotely resembling a thank you, and he stared until Malfoy began to fidget slightly. "No problem, Malfoy," he finally shrugged. "You know, no big deal, or whatever."

Grey eyes flashed, and Malfoy opened his mouth as if to argue that yes, it was a _very_ big deal, actually, but just then Harry's name echoed through the corridor.

"Oi! Mate! There you are." Ron's familiar freckled visage appeared around a corner, followed by a mass of brown curls that was Hermione. They both stopped suddenly and stared at the two boys, sitting only inches apart and looking, for once, to not be on the verge of coming to blows.

"Granger. Weasley." Malfoy nodded curtly to the both of them before standing and retrieving his bookbag. "I suppose I'll see you in there, Potter," he murmured softly as he drifted up the hallway and into the classroom.

"What did the Ferret want?" Just the barest hint of suspicion laced Ron's tone.

"He, uh…" Harry had to clear his throat and start again. "He wanted to thank me. For his wand. And speaking at his trial."

Ron's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair. "What? You liar, you're having me on—he's never thanked anyone in his life." His blue eyes searched Harry's in challenge, as though certain he would find the jest, but Harry simply shrugged, looking to Hermione. She appeared thoughtful.

"Come on, Ron, you must have noticed that he's different this year. He hasn't called me a Mudblood once. Come to think of it, I'm not sure I've actually heard him speak this term." Ron rolled his eyes, but she continued, "He hasn't caused any trouble at all or bullied a single person as far as I've seen. He's not the same Malfoy he used to be."

Harry thought Ron might hurt himself with how hard he rolled his eyes at that. The redhead turned to Harry again, as if expecting him to argue with Hermione for them both. Harry just shrugged.

"Well, whatever. I still personally think he's a git, but if the two of you want to be all 'mature' about the whole thing, I won't stop you," Ron sniffed. Harry felt his lips twitch and Ron grinned back at him. "Come on then, you, into the classroom. The sooner we're done with this shit, the sooner we can actually be done with this shit." One hand was flung out and used to pull Harry to his feet.

They filed into the classroom and headed for their usual seats, but Harry couldn't help but glance up towards the back corner where the Slytherins normally sat, only to find Malfoy already staring at him with a slightly frustrated expression on his face. Their gazes locked; Harry attempted to give him a smile but was afraid it came out as more of a grimace and quickly turned back around. Ignoring the eyes he could feel on the back of his head, he began unpacking his books as slowly as he could.

The rest of the day passed Harry by in a colorless blur; the only moment that really stuck out to him happened in Potions class. He was standing in the supply closet next to Malfoy—dutifully collecting ingredients and decidedly _not_ sneaking glances at the blond out of the corner of his eye—when both he and the Slytherin had reached for a jar of earwigs at the same time and it happened. Their fingers brushed. A small jolt of electricity passed through Harry's body at the point of contact, spreading tingling vibrations out through his digits to the rest of his arm. Malfoy's hand twitched, knocking the entire jar off the shelf. But before it could smash to pieces against the stone floor, Harry's wand was out and pointed and the jar had been safely summoned to his hand before he even had time to blink.

"Whoa. Impressive reflexes there, Potter." Malfoy sounded amused. With a shrug, Harry offered him the jar. "And such a gentleman." The Slytherin's tone turned teasing but he reached out to accept the insects, pale fingers wrapping around Harry's own and trapping his hand against the glass of the jar. Malfoy's palm was warm against his skin and Harry couldn't help but stare at those long, pale fingers; fingers that represented the rest of Malfoy well. Everything about him was long and slender and pale— his hair, his throat, his torso, his legs—all in startling contrast to the black that Malfoy was constantly wearing.

Harry's gaze finally drifted back up to meet the other boy's and would have dropped the jar if not for Malfoy's fingers still gripped tightly over his own. The expression on Malfoy's face was the same as it had been earlier: unreadable but acute, his gaze sharp and searching. Harry could feel his skin burning under such intensity and took a step back but could not stop the flush from reddening his cheeks.

The barest ghost of a smirk crossed Malfoy's face for the briefest of seconds before he hefted the jar from Harry's clenched grasp. "This step isn't 'til later; you can come get the jar from me in a moment," he drawled, turning away from Harry and heading back to the table he shared with Zabini and Parkinson.

There was a tingling in Harry's fingers and he flexed them several times, trying to ignore both the feeling of Malfoy's hand on his own and the pounding of his heart. Collecting the rest of his ingredients in a stupor, he shuffled back to his table and began brewing the assigned potion in a trance, hardly seeing what ingredients he was adding.

"NOT bulbadox juice, Harry, for goodness sake!" Hermione sighed in exasperation, her grip iron around his wrist to prevent him from pouring the lilac-colored juice into his cauldron. "Honestly, this potion doesn't even _call_ for bulbadox juice!"

With a shrug, Harry set the bottle down and lowered his flame to simmer, not bothering to skim the instructions before stepping away from his table and over to the Slytherins. Zabini watched with wide eyes as the Gryffindor neared and he heard Pansy swallow before burying herself in the potions text. Malfoy was bent over his cauldron in concentration, adding what appeared to be dried leaves of a plant that Harry didn't recognize between anti-clockwise stirs. Harry apparently hadn't gotten that far yet. Or maybe he had just skipped that step. He mentally shrugged as his eyes scanned the table for the squat jar of earwigs.

Spying them, he leaned over Malfoy and picked it up before turning to face the man himself, who had finished counting stirs and was now staring at Harry, having turned on his stool to face the Gryffindor directly. Malfoy's hair was slightly damp—from both the steam of the cauldrons and sweat from concentration. The strands had darkened to a light gold and clung delicately to his forehead and cheekbones. His eyes, only inches away, really, were a dark grey; they reminded Harry of early morning thunderstorms and the swooping feeling he got in his midsection when he took an especially steep dive on a broomstick.

Still staring in utter silence, Harry willed his mouth to open and speak, to say something—anything—willing his stupid numb brain to wake up and fill his mouth with words, something cool. Something one normal person might say to another person that they might possibly want to try being friends with. Could he be friends with Draco Malfoy? Was that something that was actually possible? Not too long ago, Harry would have said _fuck no._ Now, he wasn't sure what he would say. All he knew was that he wanted to try.

Since the age of one, his life had been filled with hatred and unhealthy competition; the Dursleys had spewed malice at him every chance they got, loathing him with a fierce delight the very instant he crossed their doorstep as an infant and never missing an opportunity to remind him of their contempt. Both his aunt and uncle had taken an almost perverse pleasure in constantly comparing him to Dudley and finding Harry consistently lacking, no matter what it was being discussed; Malfoy had simply continued the acrimonious behavior at Hogwarts. They had been rivals since the very first day. Between the gossip and the whispers and the Daily Prophet articles, Harry had quickly grown tired of the speculation constantly surrounding him wherever he turned in his life. And then Malfoy would show his pointy git face and make it about a hundred times worse.

Although, if Harry was being honest with himself, the pointed features of the other boy now appeared much softer—both by age and the disarming effect of his new hairstyle.

Malfoy raised one silver eyebrow and Harry realized that he had been silently staring for too long. That he had been staring at _Draco Malfoy_ for too long. Flushing, he cleared his throat and turned away, starting slightly when he noticed Blaise Zabini gaping at them. He glanced over at Parkinson, but she was adamantly refusing to look up from her book. Malfoy coughed a laugh and turned his attention back to his potion—a clear dismissal. Earwigs gripped tightly in one fist, Harry spun around to leave.

"Are you upset about it?" The posh voice stopped him, and he swiveled back to face it.

"Upset about what?" Zabini and Parkinson acting strangely? Malfoy's potion turning out far better than his own? Discovering that he wanted to befriend Draco Malfoy and was maybe currently thinking that the blond looked quite good with damp hair falling into his eyes?

"Quidditch," Malfoy responded simply.

Oh. For the second time that day Harry had to ask himself: was he upset? "Not really," he shrugged.

Malfoy tilted his head and studied Harry at an angle. "Why not?" he asked finally, and Harry shrugged again.

"It's just Quidditch, isn't it? No big deal." And it really wasn't. A big deal, that was. Harry had dealt with worse; he had survived far worse than a Quidditch restriction. Malfoy's head tilted even further and Harry was beginning to grow uncomfortable under the fierce stare.

"Are _you_ upset about it?" He felt desperate to shatter the intensity of that gaze. "You're off the team too, after all."

Malfoy blinked, and his lips twitched upwards in a small smile. "No," he admitted. "I wouldn't have been allowed back on the team regardless."

"Why not?" Harry wondered and the corners of the Slytherin's smile turned bitter.

"Nobody wants an ex-Death Eater representing their House."

Harry didn't know what to say. He wanted to wrap his arms around the slender blond and comfort him until the tautness had fled from his mouth, but he could see the walls in the grey eyes and the defensive straightening of the other boy's back and wisely kept his arms to himself. "Shame," he said instead. "You were good competition."

At the compliment, Malfoy's eyes widened, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Yes, well, both teams will be fucked without us, won't they? I'm sure McGonagall will regret it the most when Hufflepuff wins."

That brought the slightest of grins to Harry's face and Malfoy smiled in return. At the sight of that smile—that _smile!—_ Harry's palms prickled with sweat and he was suddenly aware of how big his hands were and how slouching his posture was. "Erm, well, I better get back," he said awkwardly. "To my potion. I mean, it's probably shit and useless because I'm dead certain I fucked it up in at least a dozen different ways, but I better get back before it, you know, blows up or something," he finished lamely, stumbling backward with a mental cringe. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Malfoy's smile widened as he nodded. "See that it doesn't, Potter."

Face burning red, Harry turned and hastily made his way back to the Gryffindor table, where he found his potion a sickly green and crackling alarmingly. Stepping back to his station, he quickly scanned the instructions before dropping two horse hairs into it and stirring seventeen times. It hissed and turned a delicate orange, which was pretty, but far from the cerulean color that Hermione's was.

Not that it even mattered.

Slughorn didn't even glance into Harry's cauldron before awarding him an O and clapping him on the back in an overly friendly manner, at which Harry shook his head and sighed. He was sick of the special treatment Slughorn bestowed upon his favorites, Harry being number one amongst them. It only made him even more indifferent towards the subject. Why bother if the result was the same regardless? Why actually try if he was going to be rewarded just the same?

It was in those moments that Harry found himself missing Snape.

It was in moments like that that he found himself wishing for Slughorn to deduct House points, assign detention for no reason, make snide comments to the Slytherins at his own enraged expense; Snape would have humiliated him mercilessly for the shit concoction he had just handed in. The greasy git would have mocked him, the Slytherins would have laughed, and Harry would have been furious—an emotion he could hardly recall the feeling of, barely the smallest whisper of the fire that once used to rush through his veins until he was nearly seeing red.

When was the last time Harry had felt properly angry? Was it before or after he had spotted Fred's body lying unmoving amongst the rubble, George's grief heavy in the back of his throat all the way from across the room? Before or after he had seen Neville and Oliver carrying Colin's stiff body back inside the castle? It had been so hard not to think about what Dennis's reaction would have been.

Harry knew for certain that the feeling had been before he had marched into the Forbidden Forest all alone, only to be carried out by a sobbing Hagrid who had believed him dead. By the time Harry faced off with Voldemort, all the anger had drained from his body and all he felt was a cold sort of determination. He hadn't hated Tom in that moment, but he had been determined to see him finished.

After that, Harry hadn't felt much of anything—not the victory or his own survival or the congratulations and heartfelt gratitude, not the hugs or celebrations, even the grief felt numbed. Now that Voldemort was vanquished, he wasn't quite sure who he was without the madman's influence over his life. What did he live for now that he actually had the chance to live? What did he want to do with his life now that he knew for certain it would extend into adulthood?

Did he still want to be an Auror? Everybody seemed to expect it. He had too, for a time, at least. Ron still talked about it constantly and Harry knew full well that the redhead intended to join the instant the school year was over. Despite being a recognized and (to his delight every time) celebrated war hero, Ron still had a deep-seated thirst to prove himself, most likely originating from being the youngest of six boys. Career path seemed to constantly be on the forefront of his mind given the way he was always talking about it—what it would be like when they were both training to be Aurors, and then later, when they were famous crime-fighting partners. How many bad guys they would catch and what pubs they would frequent after a long day of thwarting evil. And Harry hadn't the heart to crush his best friend's dreams by informing him that that was no longer a road he sought.

But if not that, then what? Auror had been the only career path he had ever truly considered, other than passing fantasies about playing professional Quidditch, another road that had also long lost its appeal. Since the age of eleven, the only two things he had known he was any good at was Quidditch and escaping from Voldemort. With the absence of both of those from his life, what was he any good for?

Ron and Hermione had _plans._ They had dreams and goals and aspirations, and they had each other. Harry had been the third wheel for a while now; had had to watch in envy as the two of them sat closely in whispered conversations, holding hands and sneaking kisses. Oftentimes he felt lonelier in their company than when he was by himself. Yes, they argued more than most couples he knew, and they could both be astoundingly stubborn, but there was real affection and genuine love between them and for that he was envious.

Oftentimes he wondered if he had been in love with Ginny. At the time he thought he had been; she was brave, smart, funny and beautiful; she could look after herself and was far from what Harry would call a damsel. She was excellent at Quidditch and had always loved him and had nice skin and a warm body and there had been a time when Harry's heart would beat faster at her touch and her smile would turn his bones to jelly. He recalled when he would clutch her tightly to himself and everything would seem okay; the world would appear brighter.

Those memories now seemed so long ago.

That night at dinner she sat across from him, grinning and telling stories, drawing laughter from all the Gryffindors within a six-foot range. Harry caught himself smiling several times and once he almost laughed at one of her jokes. That had been when he had glanced across the Hall and locked eyes with Malfoy, the timid smile on his face stretching fractionally wider. Malfoy's answering smile was just as hesitant, but it faltered as the grey eyes flashed between Harry and Ginny.

The gaze dropped, and Harry wondered what that meant.

* * *

oOo

* * *

After that, he didn't speak to Malfoy for seventeen days.

Their eyes would occasionally lock across the Great Hall or in class, but neither made any attempt to approach the other and Harry was beginning to wonder if he had dreamt everything that had happened with the blond.

In fact, Harry had dreamt of him several times. They were vague sorts of dreams that he could scarcely remember, but ones that left him with an odd feeling of contentment and unease.

He wasn't sure what to say to the other boy or when the best time to approach him would be. The blond never seemed to be out of the company of Zabini and Parkinson; in fact, the three were rarely, if at all, ever parted from one another. They traveled together in a tight triangle—Malfoy always at the front—holding hushed conversations that were never audible to the other students.

Harry often wondered what they talked about; sometimes Malfoy looked irritated, like he was arguing with one of them; other times he looked as if he was holding back laughter, much to Harry's annoyance. The sound was so rare he couldn't help but wonder what the Slytherin sounded like when he laughed. Harry had only ever heard his laugh tainted with malice or derision; he had yet to hear a genuine laugh from him. He also had yet to see him out of the company of his two housemates.

But as much time as Malfoy spent with the other Slytherins, Harry spent just as much by himself, roaming the lesser used sections of the castle or traversing the grounds and forest. He avoided Ginny on her own and disappeared from her presence the instant the crowd around them began to thin. And just as much as he avoided his ex-girlfriend, he dodged the company of Ron and Hermione, as well.

Ron either could not or refused to see how much Harry had changed since the war. They no longer stayed awake late into the night, whispering and laughing in the quiet darkness of the dorm, only to be shushed by their other three housemates. Harry no longer felt the same kind of enthusiasm for familiar things like Ron did. The redhead still expected Harry to care about Quidditch and House teams and future careers—he expected Harry to be the same as he had always been.

To Ron, the war had been fought, people had been killed, Voldemort had been defeated, it had happened, it was over. He was still dealing with the loss of Fred, but he had the uncanny ability to channel his focus entirely into whatever was currently on his mind.

At the moment, it was once again Quidditch.

"Hermione! I mean honestly! Have you even fucking seen them?" Ron's deep voice was bordering on desperate as he—ignoring Hermione's eye roll—turned to Ginny as she sat and grasped her shoulders tightly. "Ginny! Your team! You're the captain! What the bloody hell?"

She grimaced and glared hotly. "I fucking know, all right? Now untwist your knickers, darling." She uncurled his fingers from her arms and shoved them back at him. "It's not my fault. _This_ one isn't allowed on the pitch anymore," she stabbed a finger in Harry's direction, "and we lost most of our team to graduation or the fucking ban, as well as our subs."

Ron cursed, and Hermione swatted his arm from behind her book. Pleading blue eyes turned to Harry. "Harry, help her! Come on, mate. It's our last year and if Gryffindor loses the House Cup to Hufflepuff, that's what I'll have to remember my school years by for the _rest of my life_!"

Harry poked at his food and shrugged. "Ginny's doing fine as captain, they don't need me. Besides Ron, it's only Quidditch." Both Ron and Ginny turned wide, horrified eyes on the brunet; Hermione gazed at him speculatively over the top of her book.

"Only Quidditch?" Ron whispered in alarm. _"Only_ Quidditch? Are you sure you're feeling okay, mate?"

Shoving his mostly untouched plate away from himself, Harry shrugged and nodded before rising. "I'm going to go. I'll see you guys later." He made his way from the Great Hall, still loud and full of students eating dinner, before ducking down a side corridor that led him to the second floor. Shrugging off his bookbag, he tucked it behind an oddly positioned suit of armor after pulling the Marauder's Map from it and folding it into a pocket. The buckle on his robes was unclasped and he slid the fabric from his narrow shoulders before shoving the bundle on top of his bag and casting a Disillusionment Charm over it all.

As an afterthought, he tugged his tie loose and shoved it beneath the pile as well. Calmly, he straightened and began drifting forward, not paying attention to where he was heading or where his feet were leading him. All he was aware of was that he didn't run into anybody and knew he preferred it that way.

Dusk had long fallen, casting the shadowed corridors of the old castle into flickering torchlight, when Harry found himself at the familiar blank stretch of wall opposite the familiar tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy. Reaching out a hand, he trailed it lightly over the dry stone, wondering if the Room of Requirement would still work or if it would even appear at all. Maybe it was dead—just as dead as the ashes of Vincent Crabbe still trapped within, his only remains lost forever, along with the Prince's book.

Shame.

When he had first learned the Prince's identity, Harry had felt weird and upset about having owned and relied so heavily on a book once belonging to Severus Snape, but now that fact no longer bothered him. The memory of the man had long since lost the sharp spike of hatred Harry had once felt toward him.

His curiosity finally won and he began to pace mechanically, focusing on bringing a door into existence. After three turns he stopped and glanced up at the wall, only to find a bare stretch of stone staring back. No door, no knob. The room did not work anymore. One more thing Harry had once relied on so earnestly was now gone.

It was probably just as well the door didn't appear. What if the room was still on fire? At the thought, Harry's eyes slid shut as his skin grew hot; he could taste the heavy smoke hanging thick in the air, hear the leaping crackle of the flames; he could recall the feeling in the pit of his stomach as he swooped toward a desk and pulled a familiar blond onto the back of his broom, the feel of those arms wrapped so securely around him, like iron in their terror. Nobody had ever clung to him like that before and he could almost feel the hot breath Draco had panted against his neck, hitching and rasped.

His eyes snapped open and he fumbled with his pocket for a moment before freeing the map and unfolding it. Malfoy, Malfoy…not in the dungeons. Zabini's dot was perfectly still; sleeping, no doubt. But it was the only one in the room.

Lighting his wand, Harry held it high and peered closely at the map, willing the dot to reveal itself. It finally did, but not where the brunet would have guessed at all.

Draco Malfoy was in the Astronomy Tower.

* * *

oOo

* * *

Every time Harry saw the blond, he was surprised. Malfoy was barefoot and perched on the wide ledge of the windowsill, dressed in black silk pajama bottoms and a soft-looking grey t-shirt—one that clung snugly to his lean frame. His back was curved as he bent over something cradled in his lap; Harry crept closer to get a better look, moving slowly and keeping his steps light in the hopes he wouldn't accidentally startle the other teen and cause him to possibly flee.

As Harry snuck closer, he could see Malfoy hunched over a thin book, what looked to be a journal, and that the blond was clutching what appeared to be a Muggle pencil in his right hand as he scribbled almost furiously across the page.

A Muggle pencil? Draco Malfoy? _What_?

Harry had no idea that Malfoy kept a journal, although he did seem the type to want to give any voice he could to his thoughts.

Startled by some noise that Harry had not heard, Malfoy suddenly glanced up and sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of him. His eyes darted wildly around, as though expecting others to spring out of hiding and grab him. "W-what are you doing here, Potter?" He was obviously trying for cool, but his voice shook slightly and Harry ignored the question.

"What are you writing?" he asked, nodding toward the journal in Malfoy's lap and continuing to walk forward.

"Nothing," Malfoy snapped defensively, slamming the book shut and drawing his knees up to his chest, tucking the journal securely out of sight in between his thighs and upper-body.

Harry shrugged. "Sorry. I know it's not any of my business or anything, I was just curious." His steps halted as he finally reached the windowsill, folding his arms atop it and leaning against them as he stared out at the dark grounds. It was beautiful. The moon was just beginning to wax, a tiny silver crescent peeking out behind a single wispy cloud in the surrounding navy of the night sky, and he glanced up to find eyes just as silver watching him from only inches away.

Pale arms were wrapped around silk-clad legs protectively, but Malfoy's fingers would twitch slightly every so often as if it was an effort to keep them there, and with a jolt, Harry realized that he was once again studying Malfoy's fingers. They really were beautiful—long and delicate and impossibly pale; pretty and yet somehow sharp, quick-looking. They were the fingers he would expect to belong to a master pianist—slim and agile as they danced fluidly over ivory keys. Or else maybe a painter, fingers gently gripping a brush, hands ghosting above heavy canvas in sweeping strokes of paint, creating beautiful masterpieces and priceless works of art. But no matter how pretty they were, Harry knew how dangerous those hands could be, especially when attached to the rest of Malfoy's body.

At Harry's words, Malfoy fell silent, staring at the top of his knee and tracing idle patterns across his shin. "What are you doing here, Potter?" The question this time was much less harsh and much more curious and Harry once again was not sure how to answer.

"What are _you_ doing here, Malfoy? I wouldn't have expected you to come here willingly." The words caused an almost imperceptible flinch in Malfoy and Harry immediately wished he had worded it differently. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No, it's all right," Malfoy's voice was brisk and Harry cursed his lack of tact. "I suppose nobody would expect me to, would they? Maybe that's why I come. Maybe I don't want their assumptions to win. I don't want to become what they all expect me to be. What they all see when they look at me." His finger stilled against his leg.

"And what's that?" Harry asked softly.

"A Death Eater. The next Dark Lord. My father," his voice trailed off into a whisper and he adamantly refused to look up, but Harry remained silent until grey eyes gradually raised to meet his own.

"You're not your father, Draco." Harry's tone was both gentle and firm. The other boy's name felt unfamiliar on his lips but pleasant somehow. _It's a nice name_ , he decided.

Malfoy shuddered and closed his eyes. "Doesn't matter much now, he's gone forever, isn't he?"

Without thinking, Harry reached out and covered one pale hand with his own, causing Malfoy's eyes to snap open in amazement.

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured, a tiny part of his brain wondering how he was able to say those two words to Draco Malfoy and mean them so sincerely.

"Why…?" Malfoy swallowed and tried again. "Why are you here, Potter?"

Harry kept his hand over Malfoy's as he pondered how best to answer the question, finally settling on the truth. "I'm not sure."

"It's not…it's not just to keep an eye on me, is it? You're not still thinking I'm up to anything nefarious, are you?" The laugh Malfoy attempted was shaky and Harry could hear the real concern behind it.

"No," he answered immediately. "No, I don't think you're up to anything shady. I just…I dunno why I'm here. I guess I just thought…" Malfoy's fingers twitched underneath his palm.

"You just thought what?" the blond breathed, not even blinking in the intensity of his stare.

But Harry didn't know how to finish the statement. There was no longer anything he was sure about: his thoughts, his desires, the direction he was headed in. All he knew was that he had wanted to find Draco Malfoy and he had. Beyond that, he had no idea.

His hand fell away from Malfoy's and he felt unexplainably bereft at the loss of contact. "Well, it's just—I haven't seen you on your own really at all this year. I wasn't sure any of you lot went off by yourselves anymore."

Malfoy hummed as he stared at the part of himself that Harry's hand had covered. "And I am quite accustomed to seeing you in the company of Granger and her Weasel. Yet, these days you appear to be without them more often than in their presence. Grown tired of listening to wedding plans?"

"Something like that," Harry snorted softly. Silence fell like a curtain behind his words and he found himself taking half a step backwards.

"Why are you?" The words burst from Malfoy the instant Harry stepped away, as though his body had somehow been tethered to the question where it sat in Malfoy's throat and stepping away had tugged it free and torn the words right from his mouth.

"Why am I what?" Harry asked in bewilderment. What was he anymore?

"Always alone," Malfoy clarified. "I remember years where I would never see one of you without the other two. It was incredibly annoying."

Even as Harry's lips twitched, his heart clenched. There had been years where the three of them had indeed been inseparable; they had done everything together, told each other everything. When had it stopped being the three of them? The Golden Trio? When had Hermione and Ron become Hermione and Ron and where had Harry been?

When he realized that Malfoy was awaiting a response, he shrugged. A flash of irritation crossed the other teen's features before it was quickly smoothed away.

"Why do Zabini and Parkinson stare at me like that?" Harry wondered if Malfoy could tell how desperate he was to change the subject from his tone of voice. He suspected he might.

Malfoy grinned ruefully. "They're both expecting you to wreak vengeance upon the House of Slytherin for past sins. Especially Pansy. She's terrified of you and is convinced that it's only a matter of time before you claim retribution for her attempt to offer you up to the Dark Lord."

Harry's grin was out of practice and really rather pathetic, but Malfoy seemed pleased enough with it. "Well, it ended up not mattering much, didn't it? I offered _myself_ up to Voldemort." A delicate shudder shook Malfoy's frame lightly as Harry continued speaking, "I s'pose you should tell the both of them that I seek no retribution, towards her or any Slytherin."

The intense gaze was back—their eyes were locked, and neither was blinking. Malfoy's eyes were so intriguing; they seemed to pierce straight through Harry, stabbing right through his defenseless flesh and bones and making him feel as though he was drowning in dark pools of molten silver. It felt odd to remember how cold and flat he had once thought them to be.

"I'll tell them the Chosen One says so," Malfoy promised in a low voice, and this time it was Harry who fought back the shiver.

"Right. Well. I should go." As Harry spoke, he took a much bigger step back. "To bed. And you. Should go, too. To bed. Your own bed, I mean," he blushed and clamped his mouth shut. Why did the stupidest fucking shit insist on coming out of his mouth around Malfoy?

Malfoy looked amused but hopped down from the sill, gesturing for Harry to lead the way. The walk back was mostly quiet, excepting the occasional hushed comments passed between them. He walked the Slytherin as far as the second floor, parting company at the suit of armor shielding his belongings.

"Well, goodnight, Malfoy," he offered awkwardly, slinging his bag over his shoulder and—wanting to smack himself on the forehead—waited for Malfoy to laugh at him or mock his misplaced Gryffindor courtesies. But the derisive laughter never came.

Instead, the silver gaze seemed to glow in the darkness, luminescent and mysterious, pinning Harry into place; eyes so big and close and silver that they appeared to be two tiny moons staring at him from just beyond the torchlight. Moons that stared into his own green eyes for long moments until, for just a fraction of a second, flicked down to Harry's mouth and back up.

"Goodnight, Potter," Malfoy murmured finally before turning and striding away.

As the darkness swallowed the retreating figure, Harry watched, unmoving, and it was several minutes before he too turned and headed back to Gryffindor Tower.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning found Harry late for breakfast, after having once again dreamt of Draco Malfoy, the pale blond hair becoming alarmingly familiar in his dreams. Ron had already left without waking Harry, something he had noticed his friend had begun doing more and more.

Waking late, he found himself tangled in his bedsheets and bruised his hip falling off the mattress in an attempt to escape them—only to stumble blindly into the shower and bang his knee on the hard porcelain. Then in his haste, he got shampoo in his eye, and it was finally with a sigh of relief that he finished dressing and made his way to the Great Hall.

Hurrying to the Gryffindor table he sat and began piling his plate with food, oddly hungry for once. Despite the dismal start to the morning, he was in a surprisingly good—if not wary—mood.

Hermione asked him a question and he answered her absently, his eyes drifting past her to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy sipped his coffee and thumbed through the Daily Prophet. Yawning, Harry pulled a cup of coffee toward himself and gulped it bitter and scalding, stealing glances toward the Slytherin table all throughout his hurried breakfast. Towards Malfoy, who finally folded the newspaper neatly and tucked it away before standing and, flanked by Zabini and Parkinson, swept gracefully from the Great Hall.

Most of Harry's day was spent trying to catch Malfoy's eye: during class, during break, all throughout lunch, but all to no avail. The youth rarely looked up anymore in class. In fact, none of them did. The three Slytherins tended to focus only on each other, as if making a conscious attempt to shut out the rest of the world, speaking only when asked a direct question and always sitting together at the back of every class.

Finally, Harry was able to corner him in Potions, following the blond to the supply closet and pressing his body in close behind him. Malfoy tensed but did not turn around.

"Potter," he drawled. Was Harry imagining the slight tremor? He said nothing, just scooted a centimeter closer. "I assume that you are in the _supply_ closet in order to get _supplies,_ yes? Well, have at them," Malfoy gestured toward the shelves.

"Yes, supplies," Harry murmured. The sharp, crisp scent of Malfoy's cologne was intoxicatingly heavy in his nostrils—a scent that was so clearly masculine. So clearly Malfoy. It was a thrilling, arousing smell and Harry felt almost heady from the aroma. He leaned closer to the Slytherin, breathing deeply. "But I seem to have forgotten what supplies I need for my potion."

Malfoy's breath caught and he turned slowly to face the Gryffindor. Grey eyes widened in surprise at finding Harry's face so close to his own and whatever he had been about to say died on his lips.

His lips. Harry's eyes traced the shape, committed the color to memory. The bottom lip was slightly fuller than the top and Harry felt the insane urge to find out what it tasted like. Maybe bitter and dark, like the coffee he drank, or else maybe sweet like the Sugar Quills he nibbled in class.

His mother's exile to France did not stop her from continuing to send her son sweets much more often than the average student and Harry had noticed the delight that crossed Malfoy's face every time the familiar eagle owl swooped down with a large package. He had also noticed how Malfoy had never failed to share the package with the other two Slytherins, always offering it to them first before then going through it himself, and Harry wondered if the death of Crabbe and absence of Goyle had anything to do with this new much more generous Malfoy.

Harry wasn't sure what sort of Malfoy stood before him in the darkened closet, half his pale face cast in shadow. He hadn't moved away from Harry yet, which was comforting—and slightly alarming. The black-haired teen wasn't sure what had possessed him to stand so close to the blond, let alone fucking sniff him, like some sort of deranged stalker bloodhound. But he smelled so good and Harry was struck with the sudden longing to bury his hands in the silky threads of the flaxen hair of the other boy and tug the slender teen closer.

"First ingredient is mint…" Malfoy's whisper trailed off, interrupting Harry's fantasy involving the Slytherin's soft-looking blond hair twined around Harry's fingers.

"Mint. Right." Harry made no movements or any attempt to look for the plant. Malfoy swallowed audibly and tried to step backwards, only to have his back hit a shelf. "What's the next ingredient?" Harry lifted his hand to rest it on the shelf behind Malfoy's left ear as he leaned into him slightly.

"Um…hmmm…lionfish spine…" the blond breathed. Harry spied the bottle on the shelf near the Slytherin's right hip and leaned in even closer in order to reach it—an action rewarded with a soft gasp.

"How many?"

"Just one," Malfoy answered, a much more noticeable tremor lacing his voice.

Harry plucked two from the jar, holding one out for Malfoy to take and dropping the other into his basket. Malfoy reached out to accept it, his fingers brushing over Harry's in the gentlest of caresses and it was now Harry's turn to gasp at the contact as the spine slipped from between his fingers.

With a start, he realized that his heart was pounding. It was actually pounding and adrenaline was coursing through his body and with another start he realized that he was actually _excited._ He was nervous and excited and hyper aware of just how close Malfoy's body was to his own. The spine had dropped to the floor some moments ago, but Malfoy's hand still rested lightly atop Harry's, his fingers the slightest pressure against Harry's own suddenly nervous digits.

Harry wasn't sure what to do—it almost felt like he couldn't breathe. All he could see was Malfoy's eyes and all he could smell was Malfoy and his brain seemed incapable of doing anything other than mentally calculating the exact distance between their bodies while attempting to come up with some way, any way, in which to impress the beautiful boy standing in front of him.

A shadow suddenly eclipsed the dim lighting and they both jumped hastily away from one another as a voice called to them, "Are you boys finding everything all right then?" Glancing up, they found the light blocked by Slughorn's recognizable girth.

Harry was the first to recover enough to answer the question. "Yes, sir, fine." His eyes slid sideways to meet Malfoy's before focusing on the shelves once again. Under the watchful eye of Slughorn, they quickly gathered the rest of their ingredients and went to their separate tables.

Harry tried to focus on his potion, willing himself to brew it correctly and for once actually earn the grade he knew he would be given in this class, but it had been so long since he had been forced to care about the subject and he couldn't bring himself to begin now.

Instead, he turned his cauldron so that he was facing in the direction of the Slytherin's table and began spending far too much of his time watching Malfoy chop his ingredients. His eyes were glued to Malfoy as the teen set his knife aside and tipped a third of his chopped roots into the cauldron bubbling before him, prodding the flame with his wand before glancing up and directly into Harry's eyes.

It was only when Harry noticed Zabini surveying them both speculatively that he averted his gaze. Malfoy followed his eye line to the dark-skinned Slytherin and flushed, opening his mouth angrily and saying something to Zabini that Harry could not hear over the hissing cauldrons. Zabini kept his head down after that, although Harry was sure he noticed him peeking over at the Gryffindor table more than once.

The curious glances of the second Slytherin boy were an even more unwelcome distraction and Harry's potion was now a deep violet, causing him to sigh as he noticed the chartreuse concoction in Hermione's cauldron. _Oh well. Another O for Mr. Potter for his shit attempt anyway, just in the hopes he'll attend my stuffy Christmas party_ , he thought harshly as Slughorn leaned over his cauldron and awarded his useless—most likely poisonous—potion an O.

Waving Ron and Hermione off, Harry packed his bag slowly. His temples were pounding and he wanted nothing more than to no longer be trapped in the confines of the castle. He knew that he had homework to finish; the fourteen-inch scroll for McGonagall outlining and detailing the numerous steps involved in human transfiguration into an inanimate object was already late, but it wouldn't matter. He didn't need to complete it. He didn't even need to be there. He knew that jobs awaited him upon graduation but also knew full well that every single position would hire him that instant if he accepted—degree or not. Kingsley himself had offered Harry a job at Malfoy's trial, which he had pretended to consider for less than a second before declining. By that time, he had already begun asking himself if he still wanted to become an Auror. Now, he wasn't sure about anything. What did he want?

At the question, his mind automatically went to Malfoy—soft blond hair and patrician features; that impossibly posh accent that Harry used to want to punch and yet now gave him gooseflesh; those storm grey eyes that he was finding himself lost more and more in every time they locked with his own.

Whoa. Malfoy? Did he really honestly want _Malfoy?_ At the thought of the supply closet and the way he had practically pinned the other boy against the shelves with his own body, Harry's cheeks reddened and he had a strong suspicion that the answer was indeed _yes._

Holy fuck. He used to hate Malfoy, didn't he? Did he? The more he thought back on everything, the harder it was for him to dredge up how that hatred had felt. The Slytherin had always been able to affect Harry more than anybody else seemed able to. They had always been at odds with one another, ever since the first day on the train, when Harry had refused to shake his hand for—at that moment—a tenuous friendship with Ronald Weasley, his first actual friend after Hagrid.

And even though he felt a pang of guilt at the possibility of Malfoy getting his feelings hurt over Harry's refusal, he couldn't regret the decision. Ron had been a great friend, excepting the moments he allowed his anger to take him too far. But he had been there for Harry, had risked his life with and for him time and again. Had opened his family to Harry without hesitation and given him the one thing that, as an orphan, he had craved so desperately his entire life. And without Ron, he probably never would have befriended Hermione, who had never once doubted or deserted him. His friends were both wonderful and he knew how lucky he was. He felt a much larger pang of guilt at the way he had been avoiding them lately. The three of them had all once been so close.

Would he and Malfoy have been that close? If Harry had run into Malfoy first on the platform, recognized him from the robe shop, maybe sat with him in his compartment instead? He might even have been sorted into Slytherin if that had been the reality. It had been Hagrid who informed him of Slytherin's reputation, but how influenced would he have been by Malfoy's friendship? How influenced had he been by Ron's?

But wondering was a waste of time—it would never have happened. Malfoy had been someone that Harry couldn't have liked if he'd tried, reminding him far too much of Dudley—spoiled, entitled, a bully. But maybe Harry was already beginning to like this humbler version of the Slytherin. Maybe it wasn't too late to find out what might have been had Harry taken his hand all those years ago.

Trees dotted his vision and he realized that his feet had led him outside and towards the forest before he had made the conscious decision to head there. Stopping a short distance from the swaying branches, he removed his tie and robes, spreading the latter on the grass and lying atop the black fabric.

The weather was just beginning to turn cool but the sun was warm and felt nice on his skin. His shirtsleeves were swiftly rolled up, as well as half his shirt unbuttoned, inviting the sun to touch even more of him and trying not to think about how it would feel if certain pale fingers were to touch him instead. His eyes closed as he recalled those pale fingers, attached to slender pale wrists and lean, muscular arms. Slytherin arms. Malfoy's arms.

Harry's breathing slowly deepened as he drifted off to thoughts of pale hands on his skin.

oOo

Green eyes blinked awake suddenly and Harry sat up, squinting blindly into the darkness. When had the sun disappeared? When had his glasses fallen off? Rubbing his eyes, he ran both hands roughly through his hair in an attempt to wake himself up.

"You talk in your sleep, did you know that?" A familiar voice drawled next to him, startling him mid-stretch.

"Malfoy?" Dim moonlight reflected weakly off the other boy's silver-blond hair. "What are you doing out here?"

"You mean besides listening to you unconsciously spill all your darkest secrets?" The smirk in his voice was heard more than seen in the deepening twilight.

"Very funny," Harry groaned. He knew he talked in his sleep. How many times had Ginny teased him for it in the past? "Fuck. What did I say?"

"The only words I caught were about a particular favorite Slytherin of yours and how intelligent and exceptionally good-looking he is." The particular Slytherin being discussed sounded far too smug as he handed Harry his glasses. Had they fallen or had Malfoy removed them? Had he leaned over Harry as he dreamt and most likely talked about Malfoy, unaware that the object of his dreams was so near?

With his spectacles back in place, he could see the other boy much more clearly—especially the almost-triumphant smirk splitting his face. Suddenly thankful for the darkness that hid his blush, Harry groaned again and dropped his head into his hands.

"I'm mostly kidding," Malfoy laughed.

"About which part?" Please be joking about all of it.

"Well, only that you mentioned me. I couldn't actually tell what you were mumbling about," he admitted. "I am, however," and at that, he lifted a thin eyebrow, "deadly serious about the good-looking, intelligent part."

Harry couldn't help it—he burst out laughing and the sound nearly made him jump. How long had it been since he had laughed like that? Long enough apparently that he could honestly no longer remember. At the sound of the laughter, Malfoy looked extremely pleased with himself, making Harry chuckle again. Twice in one day. Maybe Hermione's fervent optimism was paying off and he _was_ making progress. Or maybe it was only around Malfoy that he showed any improvement.

The teen in question pretended an affronted look at Harry's laughter. "I am quite genuine, I'll have you know. Many a lesser has told me how clever and handsome I am."

"Yes, but your reflection doesn't count," Harry grinned.

Malfoy's lips twitched and Harry's grin widened. "You know, you're lucky the Dark Lord is gone and you can lower your guard. I could have easily killed you a hundred different ways had I been an enemy." At Malfoy's words and sarcastic tone, Harry leaned forward and shoved him lightly with one hand.

"It's a good thing you don't scare me then, isn't it Malfoy?" he said, tilting his head mockingly.

"Oh, don't I?" Malfoy murmured in a low voice.

With a shiver, Harry was suddenly aware of the way his shirt gaped open at the chest. It was still mostly unbuttoned, for Merlin's sake! What should he do? Button it up and draw Malfoy's attention to his bare chest and the fact that it's been on display this entire time? Or try to act casual about it, ignore it as if he was used to walking about in the presence of his childhood nemeses in a semi-state of undress?

As if lifting the thoughts straight from Harry's brain, Malfoy's eyes slid down to lock on the wide expanse of visible skin, appearing tanner in the weak moonlight than usual.

"Erm, so, what are you doing out here?" Harry tried not to fidget under the heat from Malfoy's stare.

"I…" Malfoy cleared his throat but did not look away from Harry's chest. "I noticed you never arrived for dinner and I wondered where you were." As the words left his mouth he flushed and glanced away, suddenly embarrassed, as if what had come out had not been what he had intended to say.

"How did you find me out here?" Harry's tone was amused. An embarrassed, pink-cheeked Malfoy really was quite cute.

"Simple, Potter. I merely followed the sounds of hero worship," he drawled, his posh accent managing to somehow sound both sarcastic and flattering at the same time.

"And as a result learned that I talk in my sleep. How much do you think the Daily Prophet will buy that for?" There was a slightly bitter twist to Harry's words, but Malfoy made no comment on it.

"Your deep, dark secret," he smirked. "Perhaps I'll auction that juicy tidbit off between reporters?"

Harry chuckled—again!—and admitted without thinking, "Not so much of a secret. Ginny's mentioned it loads of times."

The instant Malfoy's shoulders stiffened he wished that he could recall the words. "Ah. Yes. I suppose the Weaselette would know better than anyone." His voice was sardonic and biting and it reminded Harry far too much of the old Malfoy. "Well, I have found you and thusly completed what I came outside for. Though why your _girlfriend,"_ Malfoy sneered, "seems to never know where you are, I'm sure I have no idea. I'll see you around, Potter." And with that, he stood and began to march back to the castle.

Harry instantly shot to his feet and began stuffing his belongings back into his bag before racing after the retreating figure. "Malfoy! WAIT!" He wasn't exactly sure why it was he wanted so desperately to catch the blond, but he knew that he could not let that be how the moment ended.

Up ahead, Malfoy had quickened his stride but was far too controlled to break into a run, something Harry had no hesitations about. Just as the Slytherin reached the castle Harry caught his shoulder and, panting, pulled Malfoy to a stop. Malfoy crossed his arms and glared off into the darkness. "What is it, Potter? We already said our farewells." Both his stance and his voice were angry and defensive and Harry was suddenly at a loss for how to handle this.

"Erm, Malfoy…look…" he began awkwardly. "Ginny and I…I don't…I mean we're not…" His voice trailed off as he realized that he had no idea what they were and were not and knew he could no longer put off speaking to her. Clearly for the sake of everyone involved he needed to find out. They needed to talk and it needed to be soon.

"Save your breath, Potter." The sneer was back. "You need not explain your relationship with your Weaselette to me."

"But she's not my Weaselette…er, I mean Ginny… she's not _mine._ Not anymore. We're not…" Malfoy glanced up as Harry's voice trailed off and the Gryffindor shrugged. "Together," he finished.

That seemed to surprise Malfoy, who no longer stood stiff and upset, but instead held his arms rather loosely as he gazed directly into Harry's eyes. "Why not?" he finally asked and Harry shrugged.

"We haven't been since long before the Final Battle. We had always meant to get back together once Voldemort was gone, but…" He shrugged again.

"But she so clearly still wants to be with you." Malfoy sounded frustrated, as though everything Harry was telling him was contrary to what he had believed and he was now having trouble accepting it as truth.

Harry shrugged again, but more out of discomfort than anything. A hand reached up to rake through his hair and he sighed. "Yeah, well…I know that," he muttered, yanking on the longer hairs curled around the base of his neck. "But I just—I mean, I-I can't…not with her…anymore…" Why did Malfoy always bring out the stammering, idiotic version of himself?

"Hmm, so if not Ginevra Weasley, who will the Gryffindor Golden Boy set his sights on next?" Malfoy pondered, taking half a step forward.

"I—I dunno," Harry lied. The other boy raised a pale eyebrow, both at the stammer and at the obvious lie. Who was Harry kidding; he knew exactly which student held his interest—and if he was being honest with himself, Malfoy had always held his attention. He had always noticed Malfoy, always been aware of the other boy's presence—never more so than at that moment, however.

They were nearly inside the castle, standing just outside the doors in a circular pool of lambent torchlight glowing from the brackets just above Malfoy's head, flames casting him in an interesting angle and making his eyes appear dark and flashing and his cheekbones dramatically elongated. Long eyelashes cast delicate spidery shadows over pale glimmering skin and his lips were parted just slightly—just enough for Harry to see the very tips of perfect white teeth and just the barest flick of a pink tongue. Draco Malfoy had never been more beautiful and Harry stepped closer without thinking. His pale lips looked soft, inviting, and Harry wanted too many things from them; he wanted to cover them with his own—taste them, caress them, feel them part in encouragement. More than anything, though, he longed to hear his name, _Harry,_ slip from between those lips. He wanted to hear Malfoy gasp it, moan it, _scream_ it.

It wasn't until he noticed how large and near Malfoy's eyes had gotten that he realized that he had been slowly stalking forwards and that Malfoy was now pressed against the stone wall of the castle, staring at him with wide eyes. Their faces were only centimeters apart and Harry's gaze fell to Malfoy's lips. Pale, soft lips.

"Draco…" he murmured, and with a wild gasp from Malfoy, his hands slid into Harry's hair and tugged him closer, pressing their mouths together. Harry's arms wound automatically around the blond's waist and pulled him tightly against himself, pressed between Harry and the castle. The brunet parted his lips and felt the other mouth do the same. His tongue lightly traced the other boy's bottom lip before stretching it further to taste more.

And then he was kissing Malfoy. He was really properly kissing Draco Malfoy and it was so different from kissing Ginny that Harry felt almost cheated that he had never known what it was like to kiss the Slytherin until that moment—because this was bliss. This was everything that Harry had ever wanted a kiss to be. Draco's chest was hard and flat against his own; his lips were soft and molded perfectly to Harry's, and yet were also firm and demanding; his hands were tangled gently in Harry's hair and he made a tiny whimper in the back of his throat, causing a warm rush of tenderness to sweep through the Gryffindor at the sound.

The kiss softened into something gentle, beautiful, something that made Harry's heart ache in his chest and his hands clutch even tighter at Malfoy's lower back. One hand slid around Malfoy's waist to his stomach and up his chest and throat, to cup at his jaw and gently break the kiss. Malfoy moaned in protest and pulled Harry back into him, pressing his lips sweetly against Harry's again and again before his mouth drifted over to gently scatter kisses over the other boy's cheeks and jaw.

Harry stroked Malfoy's face lightly with his fingertips, marveling at the beauty he had never fully appreciated before. "Malf—Draco," he whispered, and the kisses turned more insistent.

 _"Harry,"_ the other boy breathed.

At the sound of his given name from those lips, Harry froze and pulled back, green eyes wide. The two boys stared at each cautiously for a few moments before Harry all but attacked Draco with the force of his kiss, pressing into him more fully and holding his face tightly between two palms until both teens were dizzy with the lack of oxygen and finally had to separate or suffocate. They broke apart to breathe and Harry rested his forehead against Draco's, panting.

"How long?" Malfoy's quiet voice was loud in the still darkness.

"Erm…I'm not sure," Harry answered honestly, thinking back over their long and turbulent past. "I think maybe since the Manor? Or maybe earlier. Maybe since the bathroom…" The words quieted as his voice trailed off in shame. Why the fuck would he bring that up _now?_

"You mean…" Malfoy cleared his throat. "You mean when you tried to kill me?"

"No!" Harry gasped, horrified. "No, Draco! I swear I had no idea what that spell did! God, I would _never_ have used it on you if I had any idea!" The memory of Malfoy lying bloody on the bathroom floor—normally pristine white shirt soaked with crimson, face stained with tear tracks—bleeding and sobbing and drenched in both water and Harry's own self-loathing…Harry cringed and his hold on the blond tightened.

"For the record," Malfoy coughed, "I am sorry I cast the Cruciatus at you. You startled me in a moment of weakness and I lashed out in my brief period of vulnerability."

 _Lord help me_ , Harry thought—the man had just admitted to casting an Unforgivable simply because Harry had seen him crying, and the dark-haired youth still wanted him, maybe even wanted him more. Was it wrong that Harry found the idea of Malfoy knowing Dark spells arousing?

"So what did you mean, then?" Malfoy continued politely, but Harry could hear the burning curiosity layering the question.

"It was before the fight," Harry explained. "When I saw you crying…I had never seen you like that before."

"Like what?" Still that maddeningly polite tone.

"Like a real person," Harry shrugged. "That was the first time I had seen you upset like that and it…I hadn't even known that you _could_ get upset like that, and it just…I dunno, it made me have to rethink a lot of what I believed about you." Malfoy's gaze was piercing straight through him, holding him in place and forcing his mouth to continue opening to allow embarrassing words to dribble from it.

"And then, at the Manor…" he continued, "when you refused to identify me, even though it was so obviously me…" the Slytherin shifted slightly but Harry did not lessen his grip. "I could see it, you know." It was now his stare that pinned Malfoy into place. "I could see the fear; the absolute terror you felt. At the notice being put upon you, the proximity of your aunt, the question being asked, the fact that Voldemort was fucking _living in your house_." He cocked his head and peered closely at Malfoy. "And yet, you refused to admit it was me." The blond closed his eyes and breathed slowly. "So now my question for you, Draco Malfoy, is the same. How long?"

"Since first year." Draco's voice was the barest of whispers and Harry had to lean in closer to hear him. "Since the first moment I saw you fly."

He froze at Malfoy's words. Whatever answer he had been expecting, it had not been that. "First year?" he echoed disbelievingly.

"I had taken Longbottom's Remembrall," Malfoy spoke quietly. "Just being a prat. You were the only person who dared challenge me." His voice had gone distant, sounding as if he was rewatching the scene unfold before him. "I remembered you mentioning that you didn't play Quidditch or even own a broomstick and I had assumed that you would embarrass yourself and make me look better than the Boy-Who-Lived," he swallowed hard, "but you didn't. You got cheers and fans and a fucking position on the Gryffindor fucking team out of it. And watching you fly that day was…I wish you could have seen the expression on your face when you jumped into the air for the first time." He ducked his head and added shyly, "I thought you were beautiful in that moment."

His ears were definitely working—he heard every word being told him—but Harry's body had grown very still and seemed almost wooden as he listened in disbelief. First year? Beautiful? What?

"After that," Malfoy continued as if forcing himself to include everything, "I knew I had to have you notice me. I needed your attention on me, even if it was negatively directed." Trailing a fingertip down Harry's cheek, he admitted with a deprecating grimace—one quickly wiped away by a kiss from Harry—"I might have gone a bit far and gotten rather desperate in my attempts. Anything for your undivided attention."

"You have it," Harry whispered against Draco's lips. The blond shivered and kissed him and they stayed that way for hours, days, _years,_ maybe before Harry stepped back and held out a hand, which Draco raised an eyebrow at but took, sliding his fingers into Harry's and holding firmly.

"Come on, I'll walk you back to your dorm," the dark-haired teen offered, causing Malfoy to huff but appear secretly pleased.

"My very own Gryffindor," he cooed. Harry turned slightly pink at the words, but raised their entwined fingers and kissed the back of Malfoy's narrow wrist.

"Your very own Gryffindor."

oOo

The next morning found Harry awake and showered much earlier than usual, despite the rather late hour he arrived back at the Tower the previous night. Just thinking about that night made Harry smile and he hummed tunelessly to himself as he poured syrup over his pancakes.

The Hall began to gradually fill as he slowly ate, keeping an eye on the door for a familiar shock of white-blond hair. He was so focused on spotting Draco the instant he arrived that he hadn't noticed Ginny's ginger silhouette until she had taken the seat directly across from him.

"Morning, Harry," she greeted sleepily, yawning and pouring herself a cup of coffee. Harry watched in mild disgust as she spooned heaving mounds of sugar into her cup and stirred.

"Hullo, Ginny." He sipped his own cup of unsweetened coffee. "Taking out your exhaustion on the sugar bowl, I see," he tsked.

"Sorry, Mum, I'll be sure to eat my greens at dinner," she laughed, leaning forward to tousle his hair affectionately, a gesture she must have made hundreds of times in the past. And yet this time, it made Harry uncomfortable. He glanced past her to the Slytherin table and found grey eyes seated and silently assessing him. The corners of his mouth turned up but Malfoy didn't smile back.

As the vow he had made to speak to Ginny about their relationship as soon as possible slammed into the forefront of his mind, Harry's palms broke out in a sweat. Dammit, he had no idea it was going to be so soon. "Ginny," he began, staring resolutely into his coffee cup. "We, uh, we need to talk."

"Sure, Harry." Her tone was clearly surprised but underlined with hope. She grabbed a couple slices of toast and stood. "Let's go now." He cringed at her eagerness and was able to stall by slowly draining his coffee, but she tapped her foot impatiently until he rose to follow her out the doors and down a corridor, one that led to an empty hallway. They entered the first classroom they found and Ginny hopped up onto the teacher's desk, picking at her toast and waiting for Harry to speak.

"Ginny, I…" Now that he was here, truly alone with her for the first time in well over a year, he was at a complete loss for what to say. He had never broken up with anyone before and wasn't sure how to go about it. The thing with Cho hardly counted as anything and he had no idea how to tell someone that he genuinely cared about that he no longer wanted to be with her. That he no longer _could_ be with her. He was not the same Harry he had been when they had first gotten together. He was not the same Harry who would wait outside the Quidditch locker rooms to surprise her, sneaking up behind her and swinging her around before setting her down and kissing her breathless. He was not the same Harry who would walk hand-in-hand with her to Hogsmeade, or the same Harry who would gaze up at her adoringly as she stroked the hair away from his forehead from the position of his head resting in her lap. He hadn't been that Harry for a very long time. And it was time to finally be fair to her.

"Ginny…"

At the mention of her name, she reached out and caught one of Harry's hands in her own. "Yes, Harry?" Her brown eyes peeked up at him from beneath long eyelashes and Harry was reminded for a moment of why he had originally had feelings for her.

"Look, I know what we talked about before the war…"—her fingers were so warm around his own—"But…"

She was lightly caressing his palm and at his hesitation, she smiled. "It's okay, Harry," she soothed. "I understand."

"You do?" He felt dazed. Was it over? Had he ended it?

"Yes, I do. We can keep taking this as slow as you need," she finished. Wait, what? "I know that you needed a break from everything after it was all over," her fingers never stopped their caress, "and that's okay. It's fine. Because there's really no doubt in my mind about it."

"About what?" This was somehow going horribly, horribly wrong and he wasn't quite sure how to fix it.

"That we'll be together." And with that, she leaned forward and pressed her lips gently to his. It was automatic, pure instinct. She kissed him and without thought he kissed her back. Her lips were soft and so very, very familiar. Those lips knew his body intimately—more intimately than anybody else, and he felt the ghost of what they once had between them stir weakly. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she deepened the kiss and he began to panic slightly, even as he responded. How did he end this? How did he let her down gently? He had hoped that her feelings for him had lessened the longer he kept her waiting, but judging by the way she had molded herself to him, that hope had been in vain.

There was a sharp intake of breath behind them and Harry tore his mouth away from Ginny's to spin around. Draco Malfoy stood in the open doorway of the classroom, mouth hanging open in shock and eyes wide with hurt—a hurt that quickly cemented into a violent glare.

The sound of Ginny's voice cut through Harry's frozen shock. "Can we help you, Malfoy?" Her hands clung tightly to Harry and he felt a frantic pounding beginning behind his eyes.

Draco's glare sharpened and without a word, he spun on his heel and strode swiftly away.

"Wait!" Harry called hoarsely, attempting to untangle his limbs from Ginny's, but he was unable to and when exactly had she gotten so wrapped around him?

"Harry!" she exclaimed in shock. "What are you doing? Are you going after _Malfoy?"_ She still hadn't released him and he was beginning to feel desperate to get away.

"Ginny, I'm sorry, I have to go." He tried to sound apologetic but felt far too frenzied to pull it off.

"But, Harry…I thought you wanted to talk…I thought we were talking…"

 _We were_ , he thought angrily, _until you decided to pounce on me_. But he bit his lip and slowed his struggles. "I…Ginny…" He took a deep breath and forced the words out in a rush. "Idon'tthinkweshouldbetogetheranymore."

"What?" Her voice was a whisper and Harry was certain that she had understood him.

"I don't think we should be together…you know, anymore," he repeated lamely. "Sorry," he added, staring anywhere but at her.

"But, Harry, why?"

He was gratified to hear no trace of tears in her voice. Ginny was strong, he reminded himself, she would be fine. "I can't really…I dunno, I'm sorry," he shrugged evasively, not wanting to explain but knowing that he owed it to her. She was silent and he risked a glance up. There was a hard look in her eyes as she squared her jaw and nodded.

"Have it your way, then, Harry. But we'll see what my response will be when you finally come to your fucking senses and realize that you tossed aside the only person who's ever genuinely loved you."

He flinched at her words and her brittle tone and stepped aside as she marched from the room. That definitely could have gone better.

Malfoy's hurt expression flashed again before his eyes and the panic returned full-force. Where had he gone?

Harry tore through his bag until he located the Marauder's Map, tapping it and scanning quickly for Draco's dot. _Fuck._ It showed him already waiting in the Charms classroom next to Zabini and Parkinson. Tucking the Map back inside his bag, he hurried to the room, praying earnestly for the opportunity to force Malfoy to listen.

Most of the class was spent desperately attempting to catch the blond's eye, refusing to look away until he glanced up, but the Slytherin stubbornly refused to raise his eyes from his notes. Several students, Hermione and Zabini among them, noticed how intensely Harry was staring at Draco and how resolutely Malfoy was ignoring him, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care who noticed what.

As soon as class was dismissed the Slytherins disappeared, vanishing as if they had simply Apparated from the room, a move he had no trouble believing Malfoy would make if it was possible within the castle. The blond was not seen for the rest of the day; he was missing from Defense and did not appear at lunch or dinner. Harry could do nothing but stare at his dot on the map, unmoving in the Slytherin dorm. How long was he planning on staying in there?

Harry sat in the common room in a trance, attempting to do homework but mostly just scribbling words he wasn't sure actually made sense. What did it matter what he wrote, anyway? Finally, the crowd began to thin and Harry allowed himself to look at the Map again—Malfoy's dot had vanished from the dorm and Harry's eyes eagerly scanned the parchment until he located it. In Snape's old office—the one Slughorn had refused to use, choosing instead to enlarge and convert a broom cupboard down the hall from the potions room. Harry wasn't even sure if there was anything still left in Snape's old office. What was Draco doing there?

He slipped from the portrait hole before ducking beneath the Invisibility Cloak and heading for the dungeons. The door to the office was closed but unlocked, and Harry cast a silencing spell at it before easing it open and squeezing inside. The door was then shut and locked with a whispered spell before he turned to study the room, which was more or less exactly how Harry remembered it, minus the hissing cauldrons and Snape's greasy presence.

Malfoy was sitting atop Snape's desk in his pajamas, chin resting on his updrawn knees as he used some spell to carve neat letters into the smooth surface of the desk. Harry crept closer and peered at the carving, which read:

 _I can teach you how to bottle fame,  
_ _Brew glory,  
_ _Even put a stop_

"Per on death," Harry finished softly.

At the quiet words, Malfoy jumped and twisted around, nearly falling off the desk. "Who's there?" he squeaked, wand held out in front of him defensively. Harry lowered the hood of the Invisibility Cloak and Malfoy gaped at him, wide-eyed. "What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?" His tone was icy and far too much like the old Malfoy and Harry was suddenly rethinking the wisdom of locking himself in a room with the man.

"I came to find you," he answered honestly.

"Why?" Malfoy spat, and Harry flinched.

"To explain," he said simply.

"Well, I hope you enjoy giving your explanations to an empty room, because I have no interest in hearing them," Malfoy sniffed dramatically and attempted to storm from the room, only to find the door locked. "What the fucking fuck, Potter?" he snarled, rattling the knob angrily. "Unlock this door at once!"

"No." At Harry's refusal, Malfoy's eyes flashed dangerously and the grip on his wand tightened. "Not until you listen to me."

"Um, _no,"_ the blond responded patronizingly. "Believe it or not, Chosen One, not everybody has to do everything you command. Now release me immediately."

At his words, Harry's eyes slid appreciatively over the blond's slender form. "Hmm, I'd have to be touching you first to be able to release you, wouldn't I?"

Malfoy colored and looked away, glaring at the floor as if it was responsible for everything. "I don't have to fucking talk to you if I don't want to, Potter." He crossed his arms and stuck out his bottom lip petulantly.

Harry sighed. "No, you don't. But please just listen, all right?" He waited until Malfoy nodded tersely before he continued. "What you saw, earlier…that wasn't what it looked like…I'm sorry I…" Malfoy looked up and his glare froze the words on Harry's lips.

"Really? What part of it _wasn't what it looked like_? The part where you were kissing your ex-girlfriend only _hours_ after kissing me? After telling me that you no longer wanted to be with her? Well, I hope the two of you will be very happy together with your mongrel hoard of ginger vermin and your Weasel brother-in-law."

Harry wanted him to shut up. He wanted to prevent the hateful words from coming out of the other boy's mouth. He needed Draco to know that _none_ of that was what he wanted. "I broke up with her," he blurted, interrupting Draco at the beginning of what was clearly a long and angry tirade. "I ended things; it's over." Malfoy said nothing, only stared at him in surprise, mouth still open, and Harry decided to seize the rare opportunity of the blond's silence. "And I never kissed her. She kissed me. And then I ended things. For good."

Draco scoffed. "I was there, Potter. I _saw_ you kiss her. It was not exactly one-sided."

Harry dragged a hand harshly through his hair and sighed. "Look, everything just happened so fucking fast. I was trying to tell her it was over and she was talking about our future, and how she's willing to wait for me for however long I need, and then out of nowhere she was kissing me and you were there and then you were hurt and I _fucking tried_ to come after you then, but she wouldn't let me just leave and so I told her it was over and she said something about not taking me back when I come to my senses but by then you were already in class and you've refused to even look in my direction so _yes_ I used my map to stalk you down here and _yes,_ I locked you in here with me so you would _have_ to listen and now I've been talking for too long and all I know is that I need you to believe me when I tell you that _you're the only person I want!_ " By the time he finished speaking, Harry was breathing hard. Malfoy stood frozen near the door, holding his breath as if daring to exhale would shatter whatever spell Harry was under and cause him to take back his words.

"Please believe me, Draco," he murmured, stepping close to the blond and tentatively raising a hand to stroke his cheek. "I need you to, because in about two seconds I'm going to kiss you, and I would really rather not get hexed for it."

Two seconds ticked past and Malfoy still had not moved away, which Harry took as encouragement. Heart pounding, he said a quick prayer and bent forward to press a chaste kiss to the blond's lips. With a moan that tore straight through Harry's blood, Draco's lips parted and his hands shot out to grasp at Harry, spinning them around neatly and pinning him to the heavy wooden door. Harry trembled as Draco's hands slid beneath his t-shirt and ran lightly up his ribs.

A second later the shirt was being tugged over his head and thrown carelessly to the side, catching Harry's glasses on the collar and scattering them somewhere along the floor—all of which Harry responded to eagerly by pulling Draco even closer and attempting to devour him through his mouth.

Draco's fingertips ghosted over Harry's skin—across his chest, shoulders, biceps, the hard trembling muscles of his abdomen. His mouth began moving lower, over Harry's chin and down his throat, causing the teen to groan and tip his head back further in invitation as he slid his own slightly shaking hands under Malfoy's grey pajama shirt, smiling at the tiny gasp from the blond as his fingers connected with bare skin.

Attempting to remove the shirt, however, was a feat made difficult by Malfoy's refusal to detach his mouth from whatever section of Harry's flesh it could find. Finally he was able to coax it over the blond head after long minutes and both boys moaned as their bare chests came into contact. Harry could feel Malfoy's heartbeat pounding into his own and with a sudden jolt, he realized just how hard his own heart was beating. His heart was hammering so fast it nearly hurt and everything was pounding and crystal clear. He felt alive. He felt amazing. Draco's tongue was drawing patterns across his chest and that was bloody incredible and for the first time in what felt like _years,_ he felt brilliant. And he suddenly wanted to make Draco feel just as good.

Without thinking too hard about what he was about to do, he plunged a hand down the front of Malfoy's loose-fitting pajama bottoms. Harry grinned at the silk boxers but made no comment as his hand slid inside and encountered something hard. Something long and hard and warm. Curiosity made him slow as he wrapped his fingers around the hard flesh and stroked lightly. Emboldened by the tremor and whimper that followed, he tightened his grip and began stroking more firmly.

Pale fingers clutched at Harry's upper arms, matching the pale face tucked into Harry's throat as the blond moaned and thrashed in pleasure. Harry had never done this to another boy before, but he knew what he liked and hoped it was something the other boy found pleasurable as well, which, if the way Draco was groaning and rocking his hips was any indication, he found very enjoyable indeed.

"Oh, fuck…oh fuck, _Harry…"_ he moaned and Harry sped up his strokes before tipping his chin to meet Malfoy's lips where his mouth rested beneath Harry's jaw. The instant their mouths touched, Draco came, crying out against Harry's lips and holding onto him tightly as his body spasmed in Harry's grasp. Harry stroked until the shudders stopped then raised his eyes to meet Malfoy. The grey eyes were warm with awe and affection and more open than he had ever seen them, leaving Harry no choice but to kiss him. The blond kissed him back for a moment before shoving him hard against the door and dropping to his knees. Harry thought he might come just from the sight of Draco on his knees before him, hair mussed and lips swollen, fingers stroking the waistband of Harry's jeans and eyes silently seeking permission—permission granted with a nod that made Draco smile.

The fingers Harry had fantasized about so often in the past few days slowly popped the button of Harry's denims loose and worked the zipper down teasingly. Harry wanted to groan and beg him to go faster, but the look on Draco's face silenced any protests. He looked _grateful._ Humbled. As if he was being given the most precious gift he would ever receive—one he knew he would never be able to repay.

Finally, Harry's pants and jeans were pooled around his ankles and he was shivering slightly in the cool dungeon, hands resting lightly on Draco's hair and brushing the soft strands affectionately. One of Draco's palms was languidly stroking Harry's hip while the other wrapped itself firmly around the base of his cock and guided the tip into the kneeling teen's mouth. It slid past Malfoy's lips and Harry cried out, trying to force himself not to buck wildly into the warmth. Tightening his grip, Malfoy sucked hard before withdrawing, barely kissing the tip and pausing there for a second before lowering his mouth once more and hollowing his cheeks, only to withdraw again. It was repeated several times, driving Harry to what he was convinced must be the absolute brink of madness.

"Draco," he gasped. "Draco, please." He wasn't really sure what it was he was pleading for, but at the sound of his name Draco grabbed Harry's hips securely and swallowed him to the root, burying his nose in the dark curls of Harry's groin. "Oh fuck!" he yelled raggedly. "Oh fuck, Draco, _fuck._ Ohmygod…" His voice hitched and trailed off brokenly as Draco kept up the assault and it was only moments later that Harry was shaking and attempting to warn the other boy. "Dra…Draco…Draco I'm about to—" Malfoy's only response was to tighten his grip on Harry's hips and pull back just far enough to flick his tongue over the engorged head.

And at that, Harry came, fingers tightening in Draco's hair and throwing his head back in a sharp movement, connecting roughly on the thick door with a dull thud, but he had never felt pain less than in that moment—not when he was coming down Draco's throat and Draco's mouth was still on him and everything was _brilliant._

Eventually the shaking subsided and Malfoy's mouth slid off him with an amusing _pop._ Harry helped him to his feet, pulling him up and into his embrace. "I've never done that with another boy," Harry confessed shyly, and Draco's arms tightened around him until Harry was almost having trouble breathing, but he didn't ask him to loosen his hold. "Have you?"

"Just Blaise," Draco admitted. "But that was really more for practice than anything."

Harry frowned. "I don't think I like the idea of you practicing with anybody who isn't me."

Malfoy pulled back to look Harry in the eye very seriously. "No one but you."

The words made Harry smile and he kissed the other boy. "No one but you either," he repeated against Draco's lips.

It wasn't until Harry shivered that they remembered they should probably get dressed; buttoning and adjusting things until they were more or less in a semi-decent state of attire. Neither made a move to leave once clothed, however.

Instead, Harry watched as Draco finished his inscription on Snape's desk and listened to him talk about the man, reminiscing about the class and attempting to come up with a number for all the times Neville had received detention for an exploded cauldron. It wasn't until well into Draco's fifth story about various incidents occurring in Potions class from the Slytherin's perspective that Harry found himself laughing. Not some quiet chuckle or a forced approximation of a laugh that he was too often pressured to resort to, either—genuine laughter that had him gasping for air, almost falling from where he sat perched atop the desk next to Malfoy. How long had he been laughing? When had he started and why had it taken him so long to notice?

Draco seemed amused by Harry's reaction; his smile was smug and he appeared pleased with himself. It was an expression Harry couldn't resist and he bent forward to capture the smug mouth in a searing kiss. Malfoy responded with a moan that sent shivers through Harry and any brain functions being used to calculate how long it had last been since he'd laughed were quickly being focused elsewhere.

It was a long time before Harry made it back to Gryffindor Tower.

oOo

Dreams of blond hair and pale skin tumbled pleasantly through Harry's subconscious and he woke up late and hard and was made even more late taking care of his how hard he was in the shower. By the time he stumbled, yawning, into the Great Hall, it was mostly empty.

Ron and Hermione were still seated at the Gryffindor table, as was Malfoy at the Slytherin one, Harry noticed with delight. The black-haired teen flopped down onto the bench across from his two friends and silently thanked every deity he knew for introducing Hermione into his life because the girl had laid out a plate just for him, complete with a steaming mug of dark, beautifully dark coffee.

Ignoring the rising steam and the burn that followed, he lifted the warm cup and took a large gulp, feeling more alert already whether due to the caffeine or the kindness of his two classmates sitting across from him, he wasn't sure. A large part he knew was also due to the grey eyes that could be felt silently assessing him. Harry blushed under the scrutiny and took another large sip of his scalding beverage to avoid looking anywhere.

"How are you, Harry?" Hermione asked, concern lightly layering the question.

"You look tired, mate," Ron added before Harry could respond.

"I'm fine," he shrugged. Better than fine, in fact. More like fucking brilliant. And the reason for that was still watching him from across the Hall.

"Look," Ron began, somewhat awkwardly, "Ginny talked to us."

The fork slipped from Harry's fingers and his palms broke out in a sweat. Ginny. Fuck. After everything that had happened the previous night he had completely forgotten about her. "What did she say?" His head remained firmly lowered—if he didn't look at Ron, he wouldn't be able to see the anger or betrayal on his face at his best friend having first asked permission to date then later dumping his baby sister. Twice.

Ron heaved a sigh. "Look, Harry, why didn't you bloody tell us that you didn't want to get back together with her?" Green eyes looked up in surprise. "I mean honestly, are we your friends or not?"

Harry wasn't sure he understood. Ron was mad that Harry hadn't _confided_ in him? "I'm sorry," he shrugged. "I didn't mean to keep anything from you."

"But you did, Harry," Hermione said seriously. "We hardly even see you anymore and you rarely talk to us about anything. And then to find out from Ginny and not you that you two are no longer together…I thought we were closer than that." Her tone was hurt and Harry felt a hot stab of guilt at his behavior. What was wrong with him? When had he closed himself off from absolutely everybody?

Well, maybe not everybody, he amended as he caught Malfoy watching him. "I'm sorry Hermione, Ron, really," Harry apologized miserably. God, did he actually deserve any of the people in his life? When had he become this cold, solitary figure? And more importantly, did he have to be? Was it too late for the person he once was? He could never again be the Harry that once belonged to Ginny; that Harry hadn't existed for some time. But maybe he could get back some parts of who he had been. Maybe he could get to keep both his friends and Draco Malfoy. And maybe they wouldn't like each other at first and maybe Ron especially might have trouble accepting it, but Harry knew with absolute certainty that his friends would forgive him of anything and that Ron was long past his days of storming from tents and leaving Harry behind—the redhead had emerged from the war with a new level of calm and maturity that Harry had never thought possible in him.

But he wasn't sure if now was the right moment to test it by confessing to having feelings for the only son of Lucius Malfoy. Maybe it should wait until Harry was on more solid footing with his friends.

"It's fine, Harry," Hermione said. "It's understandable, pulling away like this, after everything. We just want you to remember that we love you and we're always right here." Ron nodded vigorously beside her and Harry smiled a sincere smile at them both.

"I know."


	3. Chapter 3

By the time lunch rolled around, the entire school somehow knew that Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were no longer dating. Not having confessed the specifics of their original break-up to very many people, everyone had assumed they had been quietly together this entire time, keeping it hushed so as to not draw attention to themselves.

After all, what was everyone supposed to think after the picture of them kissing several days after the final battle became the front page of the Daily Prophet? They had been talking and it had somehow led to Ginny kissing him and Harry still had no idea who had taken the photo, or even if it had been someone he knew or if the press was simply following him. If he hadn't known for a fact that it was impossible, he probably would have suspected Colin. But it wasn't until Harry had seen the picture in the Daily Prophet underneath the headline _Boy-Who-Lived Happy in Love_ that he really started wondering how much of those words were still true.

Ginny had been ecstatic about it, even pinning a copy to her bedroom wall, as had Molly Weasley in a frame in the kitchen. Molly had told Harry on no less than twelve occasions that he had both her's and Arthur's full blessing to court and marry their only daughter—a conversation always resulting in a boiling churn of fear through his gut. Every time she had mentioned the words _marriage_ or _proposal,_ he would panic and make a hasty exit.

And now the entire school knew and it was only a matter of time before the paper picked up the story and printed out some shit article with some stupid headline such as _Boy-Who-Loved Then Lost_ or _Love Saved Him, Then Destroyed Him_. Knowing his luck, it would probably be the latter. The same luck had already prevented him from being able to speak to Draco, something he was almost desperate for.

The three Gryffindors entered the Great Hall for lunch only to stop dead as the large room fell into utter silence. Glancing around to find every eye in the room fixed on him, Harry quickly sought out the only pair he cared about. Grey eyes met his steadily and watched as Harry gave an imperceptible jerk of his head, then turned and left the Hall.

The babbling conversations began to gradually pick up as he strode away from the doors, not stopping until he found an empty classroom and ducked inside before pausing to shrug off his bag and toss it to the floor. A moment later, Malfoy entered and did the same, stopping just long enough to cast several locking and silencing spells before walking quickly to Harry and wrapping his arms around his neck. Harry's arms wound around his waist and his lips were covering Draco's before he was even aware of it. The blond melted into him, returning his kiss with a smoldering passion that Harry felt down to his toes and was glad he had taken so much extra time wanking in the shower that morning. If Malfoy shifted like that again, though, it wouldn't really matter.

"Draco, you have to stop that," Harry groaned.

"Why, Harry?" Malfoy breathed, fingertips trailing down Harry's spine. With a growl, Harry pinned him to the wall and Draco sighed as though it was his favorite spot in the world. "You know, the whole school is talking about you," he pouted, an expression of his that was quickly becoming one of Harry's favorites. "And the horrible Weaselette."

"Be nice," Harry murmured, skimming his nose along the other boy's jaw. It wasn't Ginny's fault she wasn't Draco.

"I'm being as nice as the situation warrants," Malfoy argued. "Everybody is talking about how cute your lover's spat is and how long it will be before the two of you make up and how many ginger children you'll have and where you'll live together after graduation." Harry pulled back to stare at him in surprise but Draco wasn't finished. "So I hate her. She's horrid and I hate her and if you care about me at all you'll never speak to her again."

Harry could only gape. "She's not horrid," he finally insisted. "And it's not like I can just _never_ talk to her again. Her brother's my best mate! They're all practically family! Besides, I've been friends with her since I was twelve and _—_ "

"Exactly," Draco interrupted. "She was with you when you should have been mine." The grey eyes were dark and serious and the depth in them was overwhelming and Harry had no idea what to say to that so he simply closed his eyes and kissed him.

What did it mean? What did this make Draco? Were they boyfriends? Just friends? What exactly did they mean to each other? Harry had just broken off the only relationship he had ever been in and that had been with a girl. How different was it going to be with a boy? What would everybody say? He didn't give a fuck what the papers printed about him, but he did care what everyone said about Draco and Harry knew that some very nasty articles would circulate upon the nation learning about the son of Lucius Malfoy becoming romantically involved with the wizarding world's Golden Boy.

He was aware of the consequences and in no way wanted to pressure Malfoy, but Harry suddenly needed to know. He needed to know what they were and what they meant to each other; he needed to know what they were doing here and where this was headed. He didn't want another uncertain, in-between relationship like he had with Ginny. He needed to be upfront with Malfoy and find out what exactly it was they had, but damn if that thing the blond was doing with his tongue wasn't distracting.

Harry cleared his throat and attempted speech. "Draco…" That tongue! Draco hummed and Harry tried again. "Draco, what is this? What are we?" The tongue vanished and he bemoaned the loss, but he straightened and looked the other boy in the eye. "What does this mean?" One of Draco's index fingers drew light circles into his nape as he pondered the question.

"What do _you_ want it to mean?" Malfoy finally asked cagily and Harry hesitated before responding.

"It already means something, doesn't it? I mean, you like me, right?"

"Well," the blond sounded almost nervous, "I've already told you that I've had feelings for you since I was eleven. I've known for years how I feel about you." He ducked his head and refused to raise his eyes. "But, I have no idea how you feel in regards to myself. For me, though, Harry," and he raised his head to stare Harry in the eye almost challengingly, "this is real."

And that was all Harry needed to know. With a nod, he bent forward and captured the other boy's lips in a scorching kiss that left them both gasping and clinging to each other.

"Me too, Draco," Harry murmured. "It's real for me, too." Draco was silent and Harry could see the doubt and disbelief in his eyes. "I've never felt…like this…" Harry gestured between them. "Not with anyone…"

Draco's eyes widened at the admission. "Not even the Weaselette?" he asked dubiously and Harry shook his head.

"No one else," he promised in a low voice. "What I had with Ginny…I really did care for her…and I still do…but now it's different and after everything…I don't want the things I once did. You're what I want, Draco. You're the only thing I'm certain of right now. I want you and I want to be with you and that's the only thing I'm sure of anymore."

 _"Harry,"_ Draco breathed, but Harry wasn't finished.

"I'm not sure if you want to be boyfriends or if you want to call it something different, but I like you. I _really_ like you, Draco, and so we're going to be together. And it's okay if you don't want to go public about it; lord knows it will be difficult enough dating me without the entire world peering in and throwing their opinions at us, but I'm willing to hold your hand in front of Voldemort and Dumbledore themselves and tell them that we're together and anybody who doesn't agree with it can fuck off. I want you to be _mine,_ Draco, because I'm already yours. And _—_ " Whatever else he had been about to say was cut off by Draco launching himself at Harry and swallowing the words in a kiss.

"You stupid, stupid Gryffindor," Draco whispered. "I've been yours since we met." His hands began attacking the fastenings of Harry's robes and yanking his shirt untucked, sliding his hands over the bare skin underneath and attaching his mouth to Harry's neck. Harry earnestly returned the favors, tearing at Malfoy's clothing until he found warm flesh. The teen hissed and arched into the Gryffindor's touch and then _ohholyfuck_ reached down to rub Harry's erection lightly through his jeans.

 _"Draco,"_ Harry moaned.

Malfoy's mouth lifted to whisper into his ear, "Do you have any idea how many times I've imagined you saying my name like that?" His hand yanked at the buttons of Harry's trousers and Harry cried his name again as pale fingers wrapped around his cock. They kissed as Malfoy stroked him leisurely, his hand pinching off the head in a delicious twist that had Harry's toes curling.

"Dracodracodraco" he chanted breathlessly, fingers clenched tightly in Malfoy's robes, whose hand sped up, squeezing tighter and tighter, until with a shout Harry came, knees buckling.

"Fucking Merlin, Draco, you'll be the death of me," he said weakly, legs trembling.

Malfoy smirked and nuzzled Harry's cheek with his nose. "Hmm, I believe I prefer you alive, though."

"Works for me, as well," Harry agreed, before making a fast decision. Draco was still leaning against the wall, and, judging from the bulge pressing into Harry's thigh, still rock hard. Harry decided to return last night's favor and suddenly dropped to his knees, smiling at Malfoy's startled gasp and the tentative hands that slid into his hair to tenderly rake his scalp.

Harry tugged the fastenings open and—keeping steady eye contact with Draco—slid both trousers and pants down to his knees before leaning forward to lick a long stripe up the pale cock in front of him. Malfoy whimpered and the fingers in Harry's hair tightened. He had never done this before, but, once again, knew what felt good and tried to imitate it. At the cries and exclamations of the blond, he guessed he was doing something right. Harry's hands held Malfoy's hips still as he attempted to swallow him even deeper, fingers caressing lightly over the skin beneath his palms.

The black hair clutched in Draco's fingers was gripped tighter as he groaned. "Fuck, Harry…fuck, Harry, fuck…I'm…I'm about to…fuck…oh fuck, _Harry!"_ Harry had tried to prepare himself for it, but still coughed and choked as semen hit the back of his throat. He leaned back to breathe and Draco's fingers gentled in his hair and allowed him to slip free of his grasp.

When Harry looked up, Draco was gazing down at him with an expression both familiar and foreign; Harry recognized the intensity in the other boy's stare from every other time over the past few weeks their eyes had locked, but was what was new was the absolute awe and adoration etched into the handsome face above him. Draco was looking at Harry in a way that Harry was quite sure he had never been looked at before— _reverently_. Like Harry was some holy deity that Draco had been praying to for months to grant a miracle and the miracle was somehow Harry himself.

He stood slowly, knees creaking. He had never before thought about just how uncomfortable giving a blowjob might be. His jaw ached and his neck, back, and shoulders were all stiff, as well as a painful throbbing in his knees from where his weight had rested on them atop the cold stone floor. But the way Draco cupped his cheek tenderly was worth any amount of discomfort, Harry decided, if he would only continue looking at him in that way. As if the sun rose and set with Harry. As if the stars wouldn't shine without Harry to light them with a single glance. As if everything in Draco's life—every thought, action, decision—all centered around Harry and everything else was of secondary consideration.

Harry tried to think of something perfect to say; something to sum up the moment. Something romantic but not overly sappy—something to convey exactly how he felt about the blond at that moment.

Draco spoke first, however. _"Harry,"_ and with that, he kissed him.

oOo

Harry was completely in favor of skipping Potions and remaining holed up in an empty classroom with Draco all afternoon, but the blond insisted they not miss class.

"Not all of us have jobs awaiting us at the Ministry," Malfoy pointed out and Harry couldn't argue. Draco needed excellent grades and he needed to keep out of trouble. The black-haired teen agreed but took his time smoothing out the blond. He straightened his tie and tugged him close for a kiss until Malfoy broke it off, gasping. "No fair distracting me, Harry. I expect you to behave like a gentleman about the whole thing." His eyes flashed and his fingers twitched in Harry's direction when Harry dropped his hands, but Malfoy nodded and removed the spells he had placed earlier on the door.

All throughout Potions Harry was distracted with thoughts of Draco. He couldn't help but stare at him, study him, sometimes lose himself for minutes at a time in the beauty of the Slytherin—he was gorgeous and took Harry's breath away and Harry had never felt luckier or more blessed in his life than he did at the thought of Draco caring for him just as much as he himself cared for the other boy.

And he knew at that moment that he had to tell Ron and Hermione. Before anybody else knew, they had to know. Even if Harry didn't want to; even if the thought of it made his palms break out in a sweat. Would Draco be all right with that? What if he really did want to be kept a secret? Could Harry handle only being able to touch him in seclusion?

His potion that day was even worse than usual thanks to his limited focus, but he may as well have brewed nothing for the attention Slughorn gave it. Another fucking O. Why even bother showing up to the fucking class at all? It made no difference what he did; it should make no difference if he was even there.

Slughorn dismissed the students early and Harry jammed his belongings back into his bookbag. "I'll see you guys at dinner, yeah?" he called to Ron and Hermione before rushing out the door and hurrying to catch up to Draco and the Slytherins, brushing past Malfoy and squeezing his palm for the briefest of seconds before striding quickly ahead. He turned down several smaller corridors until the only sound behind him was a single set of footsteps before he ducked behind a tapestry, fidgeting nervously as he waited for Draco to join him. The wait was only a few moments before the teen slipped into the alcove and pressed himself possessively against Harry.

"You were distracting me all class," Malfoy accused, one hand wrapped around Harry's waist and the other buried in his ebony hair.

"Was I?" Harry murmured, his own hands unable to remain still over Malfoy's robed back.

"Oh yes," Malfoy shivered. "The way you were looking at me…very distracting. My potion was absolutely abysmal."

"Draco," Harry laughed. "What are you talking about? You totally got an E on your potion."

"Yes," Draco scowled. "Exactly my point. I don't get E's, Potter. Not in Potions."

"Well, I'm very sorry for distracting you." Harry pressed soft kisses in a trail down Draco's throat with his words.

"You know, Potter, I do believe I doubt your sincerity," the blond breathed.

"Oh, I'm sincere, Malfoy. I'm very, _very_ sincere." And with that, Harry kissed him hard on the mouth.

It was several long moments before Harry remembered that he had led Malfoy there for a reason and pulled back to rest his forehead against Draco's. "I want to tell Ron and Hermione," he panted quietly.

Malfoy groaned. "Please tell me you're not thinking about them whilst kissing me."

"No," Harry chuckled. "But I want to tell them. I don't want them to find out from anybody else and besides, I don't really want to keep you a secret." Draco stiffened slightly and Harry automatically tensed. "I mean, if you don't want to tell anybody yet, that's fine, I understand. If I were dating me I wouldn't…well, I don't think I'd want to date me. But we can wait, you know—if you want. However long you want. Anything, Draco, anything you want."

Malfoy lowered his head to Harry's shoulder and buried his face in Harry's neck, sighing contentedly. "Yes, Harry, yes. Tell them, tell everyone, anyone you like. Tell Severus's portrait if you wish." Harry cringed and Draco chuckled. "Well, maybe not. Can portraits die of heart failure?"

Harry shrugged and sniggered. "Leave it to Snape to become the first after hearing the news of you dating me." Malfoy's laugh was warm against his neck and Harry decided he never wanted to have the blond move from his position. "Will you be there? When I tell them?" His questions were quiet and hesitant. "Will you tell them with me?"

Draco's eyes were soft as he raised his head to kiss Harry sweetly. "I would hold your hand in front of Voldemort and Dumbledore themselves and tell them we're together." Draco echoed his previous words back to him and Harry's heart unclenched. "When shall we speak to your Gryffindors?"

"Now?" Harry suggested. "I know where they are, and I know myself, and there's no way I'm going to be able to keep how I feel about you a secret. Anybody is going to know it just by looking at my face."

After studying him carefully, Draco nodded. "Yes, they will." His smirk was smug as he happily nuzzled back into Harry's neck, standing like that for several minutes before Harry spoke.

"All right then," he shook him lightly. "Let's go break the happy news to them, yeah?" Draco snorted and nodded but made no move to detach himself from Harry. "Come on, love," Harry coaxed, unwrapping Draco's arms and peeling the blond from his body. "They'll be in the library."

Draco compromised for his body's removal from Harry's by giving him a bone-melting kiss that made him nearly forget all about the library and his friends and pounce on the Slytherin right there. With effort, he pulled back and shook his head to clear it.

"No distractions, Draco," he admonished sternly. Malfoy smiled sweetly at him and kissed his cheek.

"Of course not, Harry." His innocent tone was far too casual to be believed and Harry simply snorted as he twined their fingers together before turning and heading for the library.

Ron and Hermione were located easily enough. Hermione was at her usual table surrounded by several heavy books, all open and spread across the wooden surface. A rather irate Ron sat beside her, glaring down at the parchment he was scribbling tensely on. Harry released Draco's hand just as Ron's head raised and a grin flashed across his face before confusion set in. His eyes flickered between Harry and Malfoy several times before turning and nudging Hermione, who had not looked up from her text. She glanced up and frowned, waving Harry over and piling her books atop one another to make room at the table. They sat across from the couple and Harry cast a nonverbal _muffliato_ before turning to the other Gryffindors.

"Ron, Hermione," he nodded at them both.

"Granger, Weasley," said Draco politely, tipping his head at both in turn. Ron's eyebrows rose and Hermione's frown deepened.

"Erm, Malfoy," Ron nodded back awkwardly before turning to Harry. "What's up, Harry? What's with, erm, Malfoy?"

Harry knew that Ron had swallowed the urge to call the blond Ferret and succeeded, causing him to feel a tiny bloom of hope that this might be all right after all. Gulping down his trepidation, he grasped Draco's hand under the table and felt Draco squeeze his fingers in comfort.

"Draco and I have something to tell you…" he began, not quite sure how to explain everything that had been happening with the blond over the past few days. Fuck, he would most likely have to explain the past few _years._

"Oh no, Harry…" Hermione whispered. "Please, don't," she shook her head.

Harry's stomach dropped and Ron stared at her in confusion. "Don't what, Hermione? Please don't what?" He tugged on her arm, but she ignored him, eyes flicking between Harry and Draco.

"I had always suspected something like this…" she murmured, looking down and shuffling her notes. "But not so soon…not the _day after Ginny_." She looked up and pierced Harry with a sharp gaze. "Please tell me that this," she pointed an ink-stained finger in Malfoy's direction, "is not the reason you ended things with her. Tell me you didn't…" her tone tuned pleading, "not to Ginny."

"Ginny and I have been broken up for _ages,"_ Harry's voice was desperate. "We ended things more than a year ago, you _know_ that!" Hermione nodded once but the intensity of her gaze had not lessened any.

"But you left her for Malfoy."

Draco was silent beside him, staring below the table at their intertwined hands with a fierce resolve and tightening his grip as Harry shook his head. "No, Hermione. No, he's not the reason…" But his words trailed off at the sight of Ron staring at him with growing horror.

"The ferret?" he gasped. "You ditched my sister to be with the fucking _ferret?"_

"Don't call him that!" Harry snapped angrily, but Ron was already speaking over him.

"Have you seen what you've done to her? She's miserable! She fucking loves you and you're running around behind her back snogging bloody Death Eaters!" At his words, a sharp silence wrapped around the table like a crack from a whip. Harry's entire body was clenched with anger; a nearby window cracked and heads rose in confusion while Ron looked somewhat abashed at Harry's apparent fury. Draco covered the hand he held with his free palm, stroking the knuckles until they loosened slightly.

Ron rubbed his temples and sat back, grinding his teeth. "Harry, mate, just please tell me that you did not cheat on my sister with _Malfoy."_

Harry gritted his jaw and shook his head. "Ron, Ginny and I haven't been together for a very long time. So no, I did not cheat on her with Malfoy. My break-up with Ginny has absolutely nothing to do with Draco. Even if I wasn't with him, I wouldn't be with her. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that I didn't want to get back together with her. But I'm trying now. I'm trying to share what's happening with me and how I feel and I'm telling you that I care about Draco and we're together and I hope that as my friends you can accept us."

Ron was silent, though the angry gleam in his eyes had dimmed. It was Hermione who spoke first. "We're sorry, Harry. You're right, of course. We don't mean to make you think that you can't come to us with something like this."

Ron took a deep breath. "Can we talk to you alone for a second, Harry? No offense or anything, Malfoy," he added gruffly.

Draco glanced at Harry and shrugged, raising their hands to brush his lips across the back of Harry's knuckles. He placed Harry's hand gently into his lap and stood, disappearing beyond the _muffliato_ into the maze of bookshelves.

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione to find them both staring at him in surprise. Blushing, he folded his arms defensively across his chest and said stubbornly, "I like him."

Ginger hair bobbed in a slow nod. "Yeah, I'm beginning to see that." Harry's eyebrows rose in doubt, but Ron sounded serious as he sighed heavily. _"Malfoy,_ though, Harry? I mean, bloody hell, _Malfoy?"_

Harry chuckled at his sour expression. "Tell me about it. I have trouble believing it sometimes and it's happening to me." Ron's lips twitched and Harry knew the worst was over.

Turning to Hermione, he found her appraising him speculatively. "I'm not sure, Harry. There's always been something there between the two of you. He was always able to get to you. Always. And he did seem almost desperate for your attention at times." Harry snorted at the almost word-for-word echo of Draco's description of his past antics. "You need to be careful, though, Harry," her tone and expression were grave and Harry nodded. "I mean it. He's a Slytherin and the son of a convicted Death Eater." Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione continued. "A convicted Death Eater _with enemies_. Do you think the nation is going to take kindly to Lucius Malfoy's son becoming romantically involved with their Saviour? Not to mention that he also has the Dark Mark. So you better be serious about this, Harry James Potter, because the papers are going to have a fucking field day when news of this reaches them."

Harry opened and shut his mouth several times. He knew all this, had thought about it all before, but it sounded so different coming from Hermione's mouth. Maybe it was because of how much he trusted her judgment; maybe it was actually hearing it all put into words for the first time by another person. Whatever the reason, it finally hit Harry what it would mean to come out to the world; that coming out with Draco meant _coming out_ with Draco. In all of this, he had not actually stopped to ponder what this whole situation meant for his sexuality. Did this make him gay? Was he no longer straight?

Well, that much was clear by the way he had sucked Malfoy off earlier and taken pleasure in doing so. But was sexuality something switchable like that, as easily flicked as a Muggle light switch? Had he been straight up until Draco? Harry wasn't sure. He had cared for and been attracted to Ginny, he knew that. He had had feelings for Cho; he thought of her and still found her beautiful. But he remembered also noticing other boys, recalling the slight hero worship and admiration he used to feel toward Oliver Wood, how the sound of his voice had given him tiny thrills, especially when delivered in an intense fly-or-die motivational Quidditch speech. Cedric Diggory had been annoyingly all right to look at, even while Harry envied him Cho's attentions. And Blaise Zabini really was quite pretty. But all those feelings and attractions paled in comparison to Draco.

And Harry knew. He knew that no matter what, regardless of whatever horrible stories they printed, or hurtful rumors they started; no matter the speculations and the name-calling, the jinxed envelopes and ignorant opinions, it would all be worth it. It would be worth it to be able to publically claim Draco as his own and shield the blond from the hatred of the world, wanting to protect him and take comfort in his touch.

He would not, however, pressure Malfoy into revealing their relationship. He would wait for however long the Slytherin needed.

There was only one response to Hermione's concerns.

"Yes, Hermione. I've thought about all of this. We both have. And we're both willing to risk the nation's wrath if that's how they choose to respond. He's worth it," he told them softly.

Ron grimaced but nodded. "If you're sure then, Harry. But please, spare us the details and the sappy proclamations." Grinning, Harry agreed. "I will not, by the way," Ron added hotly, "be the one telling Ginny that the day after you chucked her, you decided to hook up with the Slytherin dark prince overlord."

Harry cringed and sighed. "Well, I know I said that we've thought it all through and are willing to accept the consequences, but I don't think we're quite ready to kick down the closet doors yet, so to speak."

Ron stared. "How long are you planning on keeping it a secret that you're _shagging_ Malfoy?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno, maybe we'll try being friends in public first and try and ease everyone into gradually accepting it." A sudden thought occurred to him and he voiced it without fully thinking it through. "We should invite the Slytherin eighth years to do something." Ron and Hermione stared at him. "They're always alone, you know, and quiet, and they never laugh or do anything fun anymore. They've been punished enough, don't you think?" Both Gryffindors softened at his words and nodded.

"All right, we'll think of something," said Hermione. "Why don't you go get Malfoy and bring him back over? Ron promises not to call him Ferret again. Right, Ron?" At Hermione's sharp tone, he nodded sheepishly and looked at Harry apologetically. The corners of Harry's mouth curled up as he shook his head, noticing Hermione's gaze linger on his smile momentarily before glancing away.

Stepping from the table and out of the range of the _muffliato,_ he began wandering through the maze of bookshelves—endless rows of dusty tomes, ancient novels, rare textbooks, priceless spellbooks, combing the literary labyrinth until he rounded a corner to find his boyfriend sitting at a small table underneath a large window, the orange glow of the afternoon sun spilling through the paned glass to reflect off of Draco's hair in a golden halo. The same thin journal from the other night was spread before him and a Muggle pencil was once again clutched tightly in his grip. Harry watched him scribble neatly for a few minutes in silent amusement. Seeing Draco Malfoy clutching a Muggle pencil might just be the strangest part of the whole thing.

The journal was set down the moment he glanced up and noticed Harry watching him silently. "So," he smirked. "Are your sidekicks still speaking to you?"

Harry nodded and sat on the surface of the table directly in front of Draco, sweeping his journal to the side and settling his body in its place. Malfoy huffed but didn't complain, resting his hands side-by-side atop Harry's thigh.

"They want you to come back," he informed the blond as he finally gave in to the niggling temptation from the past several days and leaned forward to tuck a thick strand of Draco's hair behind one ear, causing the blond to blush deliciously. Harry liked his hair long. Liked burying his fingers in the silky tresses and liked the way it fell into Draco's eyes when he bent over his cauldron. In fact, he liked everything about Malfoy—his pale eyelashes, long and translucent; his sharp cheekbones and angular chin; his delicate eyebrows and the enticing way his mouth would twist into a smirk. Hell, Harry even thought his sneer was sexy.

"What?" Draco asked, frowning at the intensity with which Harry had been studying him.

"It's nothing, just…you're beautiful."

Draco flushed again and huffed as he ducked his head. "Oh, right, Potter."

Harry caught his chin between a thumb and forefinger and forcibly tilted the Slytherin's head up to meet his gaze. "I'm serious, Draco. You're beautiful. And intelligent and witty and perfect and _mine."_

Draco growled and yanked Harry down to him, catching his lips in a forceful kiss. Any need for oxygen was quickly forgotten as they clutched at one another, one of Malfoy's pale hands twisted gently in Harry's hair as the other gripped his shirt collar, until they were both dizzy and panting.

"God, _Harry,"_ the blond breathed. "I'm sure your friends are lovely and I have every hope that they'll accept us, but they can wait an hour or two." His voice lowered to a throaty growl, fingers creeping toward Harry's waistband. "And speaking of others, what do you think the chances are of anyone wandering past?" Recognizing the very serious glint in the other boy's eye, Harry's hand shot out and wrapped around the pale wrist, stopping him before he could work the fastenings loose. _"Harry,"_ he whined, attempting to tug his arm free.

"Draco, no. Not here, and not while my friends are waiting for us to return so they can kindly and generously give us their blessing."

"Are you sure that's what they're planning?" Draco asked tightly.

Harry stared at him in bewilderment. "Of course. What are you expecting, them to ambush you and string you up as an example to all other Slytherins?" The words had been joking, but Draco visibly shuddered and looked away. Harry gaped at him. "Draco! You cannot honestly be thinking that my friends would do something like that." The blond squirmed in his seat but remained silent. "They don't see you as a Death Eater. That's not how people see you." Harry had been intending to comfort his boyfriend, but when Malfoy spoke, his voice whipped out low and harsh.

"Yes it is, Harry. Don't fool yourself. I'm the son of Lucius Malfoy. I have the Dark Mark. The Dark Lord _lived in my fucking house_."

Harry flinched at both the tone used and the words spoken. "Draco…" He knew that the blond had the Mark; of course he knew, he had known for two years now. But how could he convince him that it honestly didn't matter? Harry knew Draco's past; he had been there for most of it. How could he explain that knowing all of it and witnessing Draco emerge from the darkness and terror and sleepless nights, humbled and changed, had forever altered the Gryffindor's view of him? Harry had seen him the first day back at school, when he had stood so straight and tall and faced down the hundreds of stares from his schoolmates—face a blank mask and one eyebrow raised in challenge, Zabini and Parkinson crowding behind him with their eyes darting around the room as if fearing punishment for gazing at anything too long. But not Draco. He held his head high and even without words, seemed to command respect. And Harry respected him for all of it. Hell, Harry _admired_ him for all of it.

"I don't see you like that." His words were firm and Malfoy glanced up at him. "The Mark on your arm? You were a fucking child, Malfoy, influenced into a certain way of thinking since birth, following in your father's footsteps and orders—just as I followed in Dumbledore's. I'm no longer who I was at that time and neither are you." His hand slid up Draco's neck to cup his cheek tenderly. "It's who we are now that matters. And who I am now wants you in my life."

Draco's mouth slowly lost its tightness, relaxing under Harry's words and affectionate touch. He nodded and sighed as Harry kissed him, the brunet parting his lips as he lost himself in the dizzying feel of kissing Draco Malfoy, and it was quite a while before Harry remembered that Ron and Hermione were still waiting for them.

Regret slowed his movements as he pulled back and was pleased to note the way Draco swayed with him to prolong the contact. "Come on, love," he said, shaking his head to clear it. "Let's go chat with the Gryffindors."

Malfoy groaned and Harry's lips twitched as he led the way back to his friends' table.

Hermione and Ron had their heads bent together and were whispering, but straightened and quieted as Harry and Draco approached the table and sat. Surprisingly, it was Ron who broke the silence first. "Malfoy," he nodded formally. "Sorry about the ferret comment earlier…and the Death Eater one…" He ran a hand roughly through his hair, a habit he had picked up from Harry. "This just came as a shock to me and I didn't mean it so sorry." There was a slight challenge to the way he bit off the sentence, but he held out his hand and Malfoy took it cautiously.

"It's all right, Weasley," he accepted warily. "I'm sorry as well, for…well…you know, just sorry." Ron nodded again and released his grip on Malfoy, who then turned to Hermione and opened his mouth, but she raised a hand palm-out to silence him.

"It's all right, Malfoy, don't worry about apologizing to me. I know that you're sorry, and I know that you've changed, and I know that apologizing to Ron has probably already wounded your pride enough for one day. So I have no problem putting everything behind us on one condition—" she fixed him with a steely stare, eyes narrowed, "You never break Harry's heart, and I am never then forced to break you." She didn't blink for long moments, just glared into Draco's eyes until he nodded and looked away.

"I promise, Granger."

The hard look in her eye faded into amusement. "Well then, welcome to being one of Harry's 'sidekicks', as you like to put it."

Harry laughed and Draco shrugged. "As long as it's by his side." Ron looked somewhat alarmed by the statement, but Hermione only smiled at his horrified expression.

It didn't take much small talk for Draco and Ron to discover a shared love of chess, a passion of Ron's that Hermione and Harry could only be thankful to now be spared. Ron summoned his set from the dorm and they immediately set up a game, arguing heatedly over who would be white. Draco won and smugly made the first move.

Turning from Ron's opening move, Harry was surprised to find Hermione gazing at him thoughtfully and he raised an eyebrow.

"You seem different," she admitted. "You seem like you're doing better."

Grateful that the smiles and soft laughter in the blond's presence had not escaped her notice, he nodded. "I feel better around him," he confessed. "I…I can't explain it, Hermione," but she shook her head.

"You don't need to. I understand." Her gaze landed on Ron and grew distant for a minute before she turned back to Harry. "It makes sense, you know. The two of you. I mean, you've always been so obsessed with him," she teased and Harry reddened at the truth in her words.

"It took me so long to realize," he mumbled, mostly to himself. Hermione reached out and touched his elbow.

"You couldn't like him then," she said wisely. "Not as he used to be. He had to first change into the type of person you could love."

Harry's eyes widened slightly at the word _love._ Did he love Draco Malfoy? _Could_ he love Draco Malfoy? They had barely gotten together, barely begun to know one another. And yet, everything had always felt so much more intense with Malfoy than with anyone else. They had always had such strong feelings towards each other that it would make sense for old animosity to turn so quickly to love. Wouldn't it? All Harry was certain of was the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach he felt watching Malfoy purse his lips in contemplation as he considered the board before him.

"If you keep staring at me like that, Potter," the Slytherin said suddenly, not raising his eyes from where they studied the pieces intently, "then I will surely lose to _Weasley,_ which no self-respecting Malfoy would ever allow. As my boyfriend and significant other, you are obligated to act in my best interest. Not distracting me at this moment in time is decidedly in my best interest."

Ron snorted but made no comment as Harry flushed and looked back at Hermione, who was grinning at him. Not wanting to cause Draco to lose and Harry to suffer the blond's wrath, he shrugged at Hermione's suggestion that he study but had only been reviewing notes with her for a few minutes before Ron crowed in triumph, earning a dirty glare and a harsh shushing from Madam Pince—the _muffliato_ had apparently worn off.

"Checkmate, Malfoy!" Ron whispered in triumph to a puzzled-looking Malfoy.

"No, wait, I _…fuck._ That really is checkmate." He looked baffled and momentarily dejected but quickly straightened and fixed Ron with a firm nod. "Good game, Weasley. I haven't lost a chess game in…hmm…I can't actually recall the last time I lost a chess game." Ron's eyebrows rose in surprise but he nodded at the compliment, looking smug and quite pleased with himself.

They played two more games as Harry scanned notes with Hermione, mostly to stop her from reminding him for the hundredth time how important schooling and education were—after all, Harry wanted to be prepared for any situation he may possibly encounter in the future, correct? Hopefully he had already dealt with all the "situations" he would face in one lifetime—all of which he had survived without his fucking N.E.W.T.S.

Another victory crow was unleashed from Ron, snapping Harry out of his daze and causing Madam Pince to actually leap to her feet, shrieking, "This is a library, not the Quidditch pitch, you depraved oaf!"

Having lost the first two games, Draco's face had tightened with determination and was finally successful in the third; however, his victory didn't stop Ron from smirking at him as he packed the pieces away. "Don't get comfortable with that lead just yet, Weasley," Malfoy warned, "because I plan to annihilate you very shortly. I'm just out of practice is all."

"Ri-ight, Malfoy," Ron drawled, stretching the vowel and grinning in satisfaction at the way the Slytherin's eyes narrowed.

His mouth opened to say what Harry could only imagine, but Hermione cut him off before he could. "Oh, stop it, the two of you. You're both men and you both have penises, no need to compare them." All three boys turned to gape wordlessly at her.

"Hermione!" Ron gasped, sounding strangled, but she just shrugged.

"We're not the only ones who changed in the war, eh, Potter?" Draco smirked. "And speaking of penises, we should go, don't you think, darling?"

At his words, a grimace twisted painfully across Ron's freckled features. "Gross, Malfoy! Christ, keep that shit to yourself, why don't you, bloody ponce…" His voice trailed off into mutters about appropriateness and boundaries and Draco's smirk widened.

"Well, if you want to hear something fascinating about Harry's—"

"No!" Ron insisted loudly, earning another glare and a loud pointed cough from the librarian. "No, Malfoy," he lowered his voice. "Just take Harry and go, please. There's a good Slytherin."

"If you insist," Malfoy said graciously, standing and tugging Harry to his feet. "Walk me to my dorm, please, Harry, darling." He linked their arms together sweetly and laid his head on Harry's shoulder. Harry knew it was mostly show to set Ron off, but he melted anyway.

"All right, Draco," he agreed, waving to Ron and Hermione before turning and strolling from the librarian and her glares and her precious books. The walk to the dorm was as drawn-out as possible, Harry leading them down a few unnecessary routes and several "shortcuts" that led to opposite ends of the castle, but all too soon they arrived at the Slytherin Common Room entrance.

Not quite ready to say goodbye, Harry settled his hands lightly on Draco's hips and leaned in toward the blond, eyes sliding shut as his lips touched Draco's. The blond tasted sweet and sharp, like oranges, maybe, along with something richer, darker. Something that Harry could lose himself in completely. Already he was quickly becoming addicted to the taste of the other boy and the feel of his soft lips pressed so tenderly, so lovingly to his own. He pulled back slightly, panting hot breaths into Draco's mouth. "I should go. Back. To the Tower." But he forgot completely what he was saying the second Draco's tongue touched the tender skin beneath his ear.

"What were you saying, Harry?" Draco asked huskily. "I didn't catch that." Harry hummed and tightened his hold on Malfoy.

Ringing laughter and loud footsteps reached their ears in nearing echoes and had Harry springing out of Draco's grasp, much to the blond's displeasure. They waited silently until the voices veered off down another corridor. Harry leaned only his head forward to press a kiss to Malfoy's mouth, keeping as much of himself away from the Slytherin as possible; Malfoy was a dangerous distraction. One who seemed to know exactly what Harry was doing and was rather put out by the action, but that didn't stop him from relaxing into the kiss.

"Goodnight, Draco," Harry whispered in a rough, throaty voice and Draco breathed in sharply, looking dazed.

"Goodnight, Harry."


	4. Chapter 4

Harry woke the next morning in what he could only describe as a goofily good mood. The hangings around his bed were pulled back just in time to find Ron doing the same. They grinned at each other before stretching and heading to the showers and Harry was relieved to find that this, at least, the friendship between him and Ron, was not changed. They were still Harry and Ron. Ron didn't look at him in disgust or judgment; he accepted that Harry had been with Ginny, but that was over, and he accepted that now Harry was with Malfoy.

At the thought of the blond, Harry lit up again. Ron quickly caught the good mood and was cracking jokes and leaving Harry gasping for breath by the time they met up with Hermione in the Common Room. She laughed alongside them on their way to the Great Hall and as they ate breakfast.

The laughter died on Harry's lips, however, when he spotted Ginny taking a seat down the table from them, sandwiching herself between Neville and Dean. She focused on her food and on Dean, who turned to speak to her the moment she sat beside him. Ron and Hermione had noticed her enter as well and were now equally subdued.

Harry looked past their somber faces to the Slytherin table to find familiar grey eyes watching him carefully—eyes that made him smile automatically and he tried to put thoughts of red hair and burning shame from his mind. It wasn't too difficult with the way Draco Malfoy was currently gazing at him—he was looking at Harry as if Harry was food and Draco was starving. Like nothing, not the distance or the tables or the students stretched between them could stop the blond from pouncing on Harry and attempting to devour him. The Gryffindor shivered and looked away. His hands itched and he knew he needed to touch Draco _now._

He pushed his plate away and leaned close to Ron and Hermione. "I'll see you in class, yeah?" he muttered.

"Going to say good morning to _Draco?"_ Hermione teased and Ron guffawed.

Harry blushed but nodded firmly and stood. Green eyes met grey meaningfully as Harry exited the Great Hall, trying not to glance in Ginny's direction as he passed her. It didn't work very well. Their gazes locked for the shortest of seconds before Harry turned away. He felt guilty but knew he maybe wasn't entirely to blame for Ginny's difficult time in dealing with the end of their relationship. They hadn't been together in over a year, after all. And it had only been once, just once—as he was ending it with her, for Merlin's sake!—that he told her once it was all over with, Voldemort defeated, they would be together again. Have a future, something he thought he had wanted at the time. At that point in his life, he honestly hadn't truly expected to make it out of the war alive. And he hadn't, not fully. He had died. What he hadn't expected was to come back.

But he had and Voldemort was gone and Harry was here and Ginny was hurt and in that way, his life and inner peace were somewhat twisted and aching, but in every other way, every way that included Draco Malfoy, everything felt good. Sharp. Brilliant. The drab veil that had draped heavily over Harry's vision in the past few months was slowly being lifted to once again reveal the world in startling detail. It was almost as if he had forgotten what color was. Everything that had not too long ago been seen in flickering black-and-white and so very two-dimensional now felt _alive_ again. The strings tying Harry to the earth had once again attached themselves, but this time it was to Draco Malfoy that they were tethered.

Harry had never imagined it was possible to feel like this about another person; he had almost resigned himself to never fully _feeling_ anything ever again. Draco was giving him his old self back and Harry wasn't quite sure how to thank him for it. And thanking Draco seemed like a brilliant idea. Immediately Harry began making a list of all the ways in which he could thoroughly thank the blond, but he heard quick steps and turned instead to face them, mentally vowing to come back to the list at a later point.

They were standing in a narrow corridor, empty and quiet and dark, and Malfoy didn't hesitate to rush forward and launch himself at Harry. "You look far too tempting in the mornings, did you know that?" Draco murmured and Harry shivered.

"Do I?" he responded casually, attempting to slow his pounding heart.

"Far, far too tempting," Draco breathed, his lips brushing the skin of Harry's throat.

"Well, don't expect me to apologize, Malfoy. Not if this is the reward." He tipped his head back and moaned as Draco continued the exploration of his lips along Harry's throat.

"Fuck." Harry could feel Malfoy's growl against his skin. "Who the fuck needs Charms? Useless, horrible class. I won't possibly subject myself to it and I shan't abide you to, either."

"Hmm, but what would we do instead?" Harry whispered, searching for the reason he knew they should go to class…it was something to do with Draco…

As if the blond could sense Harry thinking his name, he chose that moment to press his hips against Harry's, who promptly lost all train of thought and began attacking Draco with kisses, hard and passionate; kisses that made Draco moan and cling to him even tighter.

"We can't be late, Draco…" Harry reminded him breathlessly. Class. Draco. Ministry check-ups and the need for perfect records.

Malfoy pulled back to glare at him. " _Useless, horrible class_ ," he insisted, ripping open the fastenings to Harry's trousers.

"Oh fuck," Harry breathed, shutting his eyes at the feel of Draco's hand gripping him tightly.

"Do you want me to stop, Harry?" the Slytherin asked sweetly.

"Fuck no," he groaned. "No, don't stop Draco, never stop…"

"Anything you want, Harry," Draco promised, leaning in to kiss Harry as he began to stroke him.

Harry felt like he was being liquefied; like every atom and molecule was being melted down until all that remained was the feel of Draco and warmth of Draco and thought of Draco and just knowing that it was Draco Malfoy, touching him like this, in this way, this bone-puddling way, in an abandoned corridor and knowing that it meant something; that Draco cared about him and maybe even possibly loved him, and Harry hadn't been sure if he was ready to be loved by anyone again, but the way the blond was staring into his eyes made him think that yes, he was definitely ready to be loved by Draco Malfoy. And the way Draco was showing it was making Harry tremble; he could feel himself coming undone.

And suddenly, it wasn't enough. He needed to watch Draco unravel as well and clumsily attacked the fastenings to the teen's trousers with the same enthusiasm that had torn his open. Draco hissed as Harry plunged a hand down his pants and gripped him, squeezing lightly.

"Fuck, Harry," the blond moaned and Harry sped up his movements, knowing they had no time to tease. The way Malfoy moaned his name made Harry's breath catch. They stroked each other with quick, sure strokes, occasionally bumping knuckles in the limited space. Harry knew that Draco was close; he could tell by the almost painful way he clutched at Harry's shoulder; by his short, panting breaths and soft gasps, by the way he began chanting Harry's name like a mantra. Harry had wanted to watch him as he came, but he had to kiss him. Now.

He kissed him hard and flicked his wrist, adding the twist to his stroke that Draco had done to him last time. That was all it took before Harry was swallowing the blond's groan and feeling himself come, as well. They stayed like that for several moments, just leaning against each other, lips moving together gently before Draco pulled back and looked down at himself, nose wrinkled in distaste. "There is no chance in hell of me showing up to class in this state," he declared.

Several cleaning charms were cast by a smirking Harry. "Is that better, darling?" he asked sweetly, but Draco ignored the tone and kissed him quickly.

"You are useful, aren't you?" he chimed fondly as he smoothed his hair and adjusted his clothing before turning to help the Gryffindor. Once decent, Malfoy kissed him one last time before sliding one hand into Harry's and pulling him toward the Charms room.

By the time they got to class, most of the students were seated and chattering. Harry and Malfoy tried to slip inside unnoticed, but the instant they walked through the door together, the volume dropped and heads snapped up. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at Harry and smirked, but said nothing as he walked to his usual seat in the back next to Zabini and Parkinson. Harry headed for his regular seat amongst the Gryffindors, unpacking his bag and pointedly keeping his eyes fixed on his desk. Ron snorted but made no comment.

oOo

The weeks began to slip by and the more time passed, the more often Harry found himself reevaluating his life. How had he lived eighteen years without Draco Malfoy? Eighteen minutes was fucking difficult enough without the Slytherin's company. More and more he began to feel as if his life were split into two categories: the Draco Era and the Malfoy Years. The Malfoy Years were the years that Harry had spent feeling anything negative toward the Slytherin; the years they had spent hating each other and fighting—mostly with words, sometimes magic or the occasional fist. Those years were sometimes referred to by Harry as "The Time of the Great Git". But those days were long past. The Draco Era was happening now, and so far it was Harry's favorite categorized era. He couldn't remember what it was like to not touch Malfoy or not hear his dry sarcasm. He couldn't remember a time that he didn't feel grey eyes watching him and knowing he could glance up almost anywhere and Draco would be smiling a secret, private smile just for him.

As time raced by he tried to think of the "Malfoy Years" less and less and focus on the present and on his newfound happiness and his newfound Draco. A Draco that was every day becoming more himself just as much as Harry was finding his old self the more time they spent together.

Draco and Ron had adopted a somewhat tenuous friendship; mostly playing chess and sniping at each other, but it seemed to work well enough for them as a form of communication. Draco had indeed gotten back into the practice of the game and now won just as often as he lost. Harry knew that they kept strict score of the wins and losses, but they were constantly rechallenging each other and he quickly gave up attempting to keep track. Sometimes he would have to resort to bodily dragging Malfoy away from the board and up the Common Room steps to the small dorm he shared with Ron, where he would bolt the lock and attempt to make Draco completely forget everything he knew about chess.

Unsurprisingly, Draco and Hermione had struck up an almost instantaneous friendship, and would often discuss or argue a subject so in-depth it left Harry's head reeling. Draco filled a gap in the friendship of the Gryffindors that none of them even knew had existed; he could give both Ron and Hermione something that Harry had never been able to. With Ron, he gave him competition and friendly rivalry, something instilled in the redhead since birth with five older brothers to look up to and something that Harry had never wanted to encourage between the two of them. Ron had struggled enough in the beginning with comparing himself to the Boy-Who-Lived and Harry had never wanted to add to it.

As for Hermione, he gave her someone as intelligent as herself to bounce subjects and ideas off of, as well as another soul who took studying and schoolwork as seriously as she did. In between note-taking and quizzing each other, they would discuss topics such as philosophy and ethics.

Listening from behind a bookshelf in the library one day, Harry was astounded to overhear them discussing the subject of karma.

"I sincerely hope it's just a Muggle superstition because I'm quite sure I've done enough horrible things to warrant far more than an individual's fair share of bad karma," Draco sighed.

Hermione patted his arm and tsked. "You've paid for your errors, Draco," she reassured softly. "Don't worry; the universe is not going to give you Harry Potter only to snatch him away from you again out of cosmic spite."

Draco flushed, clearly embarrassed to have his thoughts spoken back to him so plainly from the Muggle-born girl he had relished tormenting so callously in the past. Harry shifted behind the bookshelf he was pressed against, trying to hear his response. It made his heart ache.

"It would be only what I deserved," the blond muttered.

"You stop it, Draco Malfoy," Hermione said sternly. "I mean it. You were a different person then; you were a _child._ You've learned from your mistakes and have become a better person. If you hadn't made every decision that led you to this point in time, do you think you might still have gotten the chance to be with Harry? Would you change any decision you had made if it might risk what you now have with him?"

Draco was silent and Harry peeked over the tops of the books to watch him regarding Hermione with a calculating expression. "No, Granger, you're right," he decided resolutely. "No, I wouldn't change anything about the past if it might jeopardize my present. Harry is all I've ever wanted and if I had to go through all of that hell to become the type of person worthy of being with him, then I'm grateful for it."

 _"All_ you've ever wanted, Draco Malfoy?" Hermione's tone turned teasing. "I seem to remember you getting everything you ever wanted. In fact, you were quite the spoiled brat."

"Yes, I was, wasn't I? I was _quite_ the little monster," Draco laughed, a fond glint in his eye. "But I could never have Harry and it infuriated me to no end. Oooh, I drove my father absolutely _mental_ with how much I would speak of the Gryffindor Golden Boy at home." He laughed again. "He actually forbade me from ever mentioning the words _Harry_ and _Potter_ in his presence for an entire summer holiday. And I mean literally _forbade._ He used a spell to stop me from being able to say _Harry, Potter, Gryffindor, Quidditch,_ or _Nimbus_ the entire time I was home." At Hermione's raised eyebrow he hastened to explain. "Well, it was the summer before third year and I honestly talked about nothing else for a straight week but the absolute unfairness of possessing a better broomstick than Harry Potter and still losing to the git." He laughed and shook his head. "My father is only mortal and does have a limit."

Hermione's lips twitched and Harry could tell she was trying not to smile. "That's horrible, though! Using a spell like that on a child!"

Malfoy shrugged. "It wasn't a common occurrence. No, my father normally tended to approach discipline from a very different angle." His words twisted slightly; Harry felt a chill and suddenly did not want to hear exactly what angles those might have been. Hermione was silent as well and Harry moved quickly, stepping from behind the bookshelf to wrap Draco tightly in an iron embrace. He looked surprised for a moment but promptly melted into the touch. Harry kissed the top of his head and breathed in the smell of his shampoo.

"You're my good karma, Draco," he whispered shyly in the blond's ear. Malfoy's arms tightened around Harry's waist as lips were pressed briefly to his collarbone. And everything was perfect.

oOo

Both Harry and Draco had tried inviting Zabini and Parkinson to join them more often, but Parkinson would only shake her head forcefully and study her lap, while Zabini would turn knowing eyes on Harry but politely decline, something Harry decided to change. Draco's friends were no longer going to be allowed to silently pull away from the rest of the school; this reticent disappearing act would continue no longer. They were going to accept his company and the fact that he sought no vengeance against either of them and deal with it.

Then one day he entered Potions, saw Draco setting up his cauldron at the regular Slytherin table in the back, and resolutely marched to his side and set his station up beside him. Zabini stared at him slack-jawed as the rest of the class watched his movements curiously.

"You lost, Potter?" Malfoy asked, a twinkle of amusement in his eye.

"In this subject? Absolutely. Fancy trying to give me a hand?" Harry asked cheerfully.

Malfoy smirked. "I suppose I've suffered through worse than your company."

"You have, Malfoy," Harry nodded gravely. "You've suffered eighteen years in your own company."

The class snickered and Draco's eyes flashed, but Harry could see his lips twitching.

"Zabini. Parkinson." The black-haired teen turned to face them and nodded politely. Zabini inclined his head in response, but Parkinson only managed a sort of half-grunt without looking in his direction. His lips twitched at the progress as he headed to gather his ingredients.

As he returned from the closet, Harry sighed and began chopping and dicing. Ever since the start of term he had been so distracted every Potions class with watching Malfoy, and it was even easier when the man in question was less than half a foot away. Malfoy smirked instructions to him, but his features turned smug every time Harry missed a step or miscounted stirs due to watching the blond next to him.

Zabini seemed to ponder the easy banter between the Gryffindor and the Slytherin with interest before joining the conversation just as Harry's potion turned a sort of salmon color (it wasn't quite the maroon hue that Draco's had achieved, but Harry felt it was a valiant effort). Blaise Zabini was surprisingly witty and charming, if not overly flirtatious, with an even more pronounced smirk than Draco possessed. Within moments of speaking, he had Harry chuckling with his innuendos and embarrassing stories about Malfoy, both of which he was now being shot icy glares for from across the table. But he paid them no mind and continued. Parkinson would occasionally glance up and snort with silent laughter, but she had yet to make any sort of actual sound.

By the time Slughorn started walking around assigning grades, Harry still had not heard a single word from the girl. But he wasn't worried. He would sit at this table every lesson if that's what it took. As long as it was where Draco sat, he was going to be sitting there, regardless.

Zabini helped Harry clear up and was just asking him a question about the Defense homework when Hermione and Ron sidled up to them. The dark-skinned Slytherin looked momentarily alarmed at finding himself suddenly surrounded by three Gryffindors, _the_ three Gryffindors, but he recovered quickly and repeated his question. Hermione was the one who answered and he turned his response to her and before Harry knew it they were having a conversation. An actual, real, no-hexes, civil conversation. They were talking and walking away and none of them—with the exception of Parkinson— seemed focused on the fact that Harry and Draco were no longer with them. He smiled at Malfoy, who was already smirking back.

"Ever the hero, helping any in need of your services," Draco admired softly.

"Hmm, do you think there's anyone else round here in need of any services?" Harry asked, slipping his fingers into Draco's and squeezing.

Smirking again, Malfoy responded, "Why certainly, Potter. In fact, I can think of several services that I've found only you can provide." Harry's pulse sped. He knew exactly what those "services" were.

"All right," he agreed, stepping away from the blond and tugging. "Let's go."

Malfoy stumbled slightly but caught himself and glared at Harry. "Go where? And I do not appreciate being manhandled."

Harry pretended to adopt an apologetic air. "Well, it's just that, my room will be empty, and I'd really rather wait 'til we're alone to provide the aforementioned services…" He trailed off suggestively and Draco's breath caught.

"Very well. Merlin forbid I delay you servicing me," he leered. Harry chuckled as they turned to head to the Tower. They didn't speak until they had entered Harry's room and the door had been locked. He turned to locate Malfoy, but the teen was already in his arms and kissing him before Harry had lifted his gaze. "Missed you," Draco panted between hard kisses, "Missed you so much."

"What do you mean?" Harry responded breathlessly. "We've seen each other all day."

"Yes, but it wasn't enough," Draco groaned, unfastening Harry's robes and allowing them to drop to the floor. "It's absolutely maddening, staring at you all day and not touching you." His hands began to roam over Harry's faded t-shirt. "Especially in Potions. You get the cutest, most determined look on your face when you're trying hard to concentrate. It took every ounce of my considerable willpower not to knock everything to the floor and wrestle you to the table."

"I really don't think I would have fought you," Harry replied, lifting his arms so Malfoy could tug his shirt over his head.

"Nice to know," Draco hummed, stepping back to stare at Harry appraisingly.

"What?" the brunet asked self-consciously as the seconds ticked by and Draco continued to stare. How many times had the Slytherin now seen him shirtless, and yet Harry still felt a tiny twinge of doubt. How could anyone as breathtaking as Draco Malfoy possibly find him attractive?

As if sensing the direction of Harry's thoughts, Draco's expression softened and he bent forward to press a very sweet kiss to Harry's lips. "You're beautiful," he whispered. "I still have trouble believing you're actually mine."

"Yours," Harry sighed and relaxed. "And you better start believing it, because unfortunately for you, I don't plan on going anywhere."

"Yes, quite unfortunate," Draco said happily as his hands reached out to slide slowly and sensually along the bare skin of Harry's chest and stomach. Harry lifted his own hands to Draco's tie and began to gently tug it loose. He slipped it over the blond hair and tossed it into the corner before unfastening Malfoy's robes and starting on the buttons of his impeccable white shirt.

Soon both boys were completely bare, even their socks stripped off and discarded. They slowly made their way to Harry's bed, refusing to separate enough to be able to do much more than stumble until the backs of Draco's legs hit the mattress and Harry landed atop him with a sharp intake of breath.

"Am I crushing you?" Harry asked the boy beneath him in concern.

Malfoy scoffed. "Hardly, Potter. Have you seen yourself? You couldn't crush a fly." His voice was slightly breathless and Harry decided there were better things to do with his mouth than trading barbs with the Slytherin. He bent and captured Draco's lips in a searing kiss; one that scorched a burning path through his body, obliterating every thought that didn't include Draco, every molecule that wasn't drowning in sensation from the feel of touching Draco, everything in the world was stripped away and forgotten until the only thing Harry knew was the feel of Draco's skin sliding against his own, the panting gasps that he made, the fingers clenching and twisting in Harry's hair. Everything consisted of Draco and Draco was everything and Harry loved him and he needed him to know it.

He slowed his movements and raised his head to look down into grey eyes dark with desire, burning with a near-painful longing. "I love you, Draco," he murmured. The blond froze and Harry watched a bead of sweat slide down his temple. He bent to kiss him again and at the press of his lips the teen thawed, surprising Harry by deftly flipping them over so that now he was on top.

He straddled Harry's hips and began peppering his face with tiny kisses. "Fuck me, Harry," he whispered. And it was Harry's turn to freeze.

"I-I-what? Are you sure?" he stammered. While over the past few weeks they had gotten rather creative in their ways of bringing each other off, those had mostly been quick gropes and rushed fumblings. They hadn't done anything like this and Harry wasn't sure he actually knew how. He hadn't been a virgin for quite some time, but he had never been with a boy before. Without a doubt, though, he knew that Draco was the only person he would ever want to be with again.

"Yes. Yes," Draco insisted, his kisses turning almost frantic. Harry cupped his face and held him still until he met his gaze. He was surprised to see a delicate pink staining the porcelain features of the other boy. "I love you too, Harry," he admitted shyly, peeking at him from beneath his lashes. The expression on the blond's face and the words he had said caused Harry's heart to stutter and flip pleasantly. "Now please," his voice took on the whining tone that Harry pretended to be annoyed with but secretly found sort of endearing, "please fuck me, Harry. I've never actually…you know…done it before…" his blush deepened, "and I want you to be my first, all right?"

"I love you," Harry repeated simply, and kissed him. Draco responded with enthusiasm, cradling Harry's head and attempting to suck his heart out through his mouth. "This is a first for me too, you know," he broke the kiss to inform the blond.

"Sort of," Draco amended uncomfortably, shifting slightly. "I know that you and the Weaselette used to…"

"A first," Harry repeated firmly. "Being with her was so different, Draco. I've never felt this way about anyone else. I love you." Harry rolled them back over and attempted to imprint the image of Draco Malfoy lying sweaty and mussed beneath him onto his every sense—staring up at him with wide eyes and dilated pupils, his breath hitched and erotic. This was a moment he knew he would always remember.

But he was scared. Or he would be if Gryffindors were capable of feeling fear. No, more like he was _worried._ Worried that he might hurt Draco, worried that he would be terrible, worried that he would somehow fuck it up before anything had actually happened.

The panic must have begun to show in his eyes because Draco pressed a palm to his cheek and drew him down for a kiss. "Harry."

And the sound of his name from those lips made Harry groan deep in his throat and press himself more fully into Draco's warm body. "What do I do?" he asked huskily, nose and lips skimming lightly along Malfoy's jaw.

"Lube," the blond gasped as Harry's hand trailed along his chest, arching up into Harry's touch.

Harry pulled back to stare down at him, chewing his bottom lip. "I don't have any, Draco. I mean, Ron might…" He trailed off as Draco shuddered.

"Never mention Ronald Weasley to me again whilst we are naked, do you understand?" he demanded sternly. Harry nodded, blushing. "Also, it's not a problem. I have some in my bag."

Harry goggled at him, nonplussed. "Draco, you carry _lube_ around with you in your _schoolbag?"_ He had thought he had learned all of Malfoy's central habits and mannerisms, but if he had missed something like that, what else had escaped his notice?

"Of course, Harry. You never know when a situation may call for it," Malfoy's tone turned teasing. "I wanted to be well prepared in case we were somehow afforded such opportunity."

Harry kissed him admiringly. "Good thing we have you in this relationship."

Malfoy nodded seriously. "Something we're both grateful for."

Harry slid off him in search of Draco's bookbag. Once located, he upended the contents onto the floor, earning an amusing sort of squawk from Malfoy. "Potter!" he reprimanded harshly. "Do not break all my possessions in the process, hmm? Those are my personal _things_ and I assure you they are quite _expensive_ so show my belongings the proper _respect."_ Harry's grin widened with every stressor Draco placed on his words.

"Yes, sir," he said triumphantly, holding up a small nondescript jar. Draco raised an eyebrow and smirked, beckoning Harry back to the bed. Harry all but jumped back atop him, settling happily between his thighs. He had just placed the stopper between his teeth when sudden pounding on the door startled him.

"Oi! Ron! Open up, you bloody prick!" Shit. That was Ginny's voice.

At the sound, Draco tensed but seemed to be thawing as he swatted at Harry's arm. "Tell her to go away! Make her go away!" he hissed furiously.

Harry shrugged helplessly. He was in no position to open the door to Ginny, but judging by the increase in pounding and yelling, she was settling in to be there for a while. Harry scrambled off the bed and quickly wrestled his jeans back on, tugging his t-shirt on inside out in his haste. Behind him, he could hear Draco rushing to do the same, muttering darkly the entire time about horrible she-Weasel gingers and their impeccably bad timing.

When Harry felt more or less presentable, he flung open the door somewhat hysterically and gazed at Ginny as evenly as he able to. "Ron isn't here," he informed her in a polite voice, sounding as if she had interrupted him in the middle of something trivial.

She seemed surprised to see Harry, which was odd considering he did live there. "I—right. Sorry," she said awkwardly. "Erm, I guess just let him know I was looking for him then, yeah?" Less than a yard away and hidden from her sight was Draco, standing stiffly behind the wall on the other side of the door, and Harry wasn't sure what would happen if she insisted on barging inside to wait for her brother.

Nodding in silent agreement, he made to close the door but she cleared her throat and he hesitated. "How are you, Harry?" she asked. Her tone was somewhat cool, but Harry could hear the concern and slight trepidation underneath. "We really haven't seen much of each other over the past few weeks," she continued,"and I miss talking to you. I miss _you."_ She fixed him with a steely look that he was unable to meet.

The truth was that he did miss her somewhat, but for the most part, he didn't really think about her. He missed her the way he missed Ron when he was out of the redhead's company for too long a period. He did not miss her in the same frenzied, burning way that he missed Draco when he was forced to part company with the blond. It wasn't her fault and it wasn't his, but he still felt an aching guilt gnaw through him.

His gaze flicked to Draco to find him scowling, eyes flashing dangerously, and Harry stretched out one arm to place it over Draco's in an attempt to placate, just out of Ginny's line of vision. "Yeah, Gin," he said hollowly. "Er, me too." And it was the truth; he did miss her. He just wasn't sure it was wise to tell her as much. It would be too easy to misinterpret his meaning.

"Can we talk, Harry?" she asked, stepping closer to the door. The muscles of Draco's forearm tensed beneath his hand and he knew it wouldn't be long before the Slytherin lost that icy control and possibly hexed Ginny.

"Erm, yeah, I mean, course…but not now. Now's not really good," he said lamely.

She nodded and took another tiny step forward. "Sure, Harry. Whenever works best for you. You know how to find me." Her voice softened at the end, fading away before she suddenly reached out one finger and ran it down the side of Harry's face, from his temple to his jaw before she turned and hurried away, leaving a somewhat shocked Harry still staring wide-eyed from the doorway and an extremely angry Malfoy, shaking silently with fury. It took several moments for Harry to unfreeze enough to close the door, and even then he took his time with the locking and silencing spells before turning to face his very irate boyfriend.

" _Of course_?" Malfoy asked dangerously. " _Me too_? What the _fuck,_ Potter?" He jerked his arm violently from Harry's light grasp.

"Draco, come on! You know that I don't want Ginny!" he exclaimed. Did Draco not understand how much he meant to Harry? How much Harry loved him and admired him and adored him and fucking just _wanted_ him? He tried again to get a hold on Malfoy, but the Slytherin was squirmy and refused to allow Harry's hands to remain on his body. "Did you forget so suddenly, Draco?" he asked in exasperation. "I love you." At the words the blond stilled and Harry cautiously slid his arms around the other teen to pull him against his body. "I love you, even though you're slightly melodramatic, and sometimes you throw tantrums, and once you broke my nose." Harry grinned ruefully at the memory but hastily continued speaking as Draco opened his mouth. "But I know it was my fault for spying on you, because according to Ron and Hermione, I was obsessed. With you. And that was long before I ever got together with Ginny or even recognized that I had feelings for her. And I was kind of hoping," he tucked his face into the crook of Draco's neck and tightened his hold around his waist, "that you kind of sort of love me back? Just a bit?"

Draco groaned and dropped a kiss onto Harry's head. "Of course I love you, you idiot. Honestly, as if there isn't a single person who isn't in love with the Chosen One." Harry opened his mouth to argue the statement, but Malfoy continued before he had a chance. "Especially when you play all Slytherin like that, using my attraction to you as a weakness against me, I quite approve. But I do not throw tantrums," he stated fiercely.

Harry huffed a laugh into his warm neck. "Of course you don't. I like to think of myself as half-Slytherin, you know. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me there," he informed the blond slyly.

"Are you serious?" Malfoy asked in a hushed voice. Harry nodded. "Merlin's fucking balls, do you have any idea how different everything would have been? How different we both would have been?"

Harry nodded again. It was something he used to think about at great length. "But then we might not have ended up here and I wouldn't be anywhere else for anything in the world."

"Or we might have gotten here a lot sooner," Draco muttered, but he smiled and kissed the tip of Harry's nose. "So where were we before that wretched ginger horror so rudely interrupted us?" he asked, breath warm against Harry's lips.

"You were about to get fucked," Harry answered, amused.

"Hmm, was I?" Draco murmured, stroking one finger down Harry's back. Harry shoved him hard toward the bed, climbing over him and sinking down to claim his mouth in a dizzying kiss. He had just started shifting and tugging at their hastily-thrown-on clothing so as to allow better access to the front half of Draco when there was muffled pounding on the door.

"Harry?" Ron called loudly, rattling the heavy knob. "Open the bloody door, you prat. What are you doing in there?"

Draco growled. "What is it with that fucking family? I mean for Merlin's fucking sake! Insufferable cock blocks, the lot of them! I am at my wit's end, Harry!" He threw one arm over his eyes dramatically and heaved an aggravated sigh. Harry was amused and thought about pointing out the abysmally short amount of time it took between Draco denying throwing any tantrums and then actually throwing one, but he shook his head instead and unlocked the door with his wand, not bothering to move off of Malfoy.

"Harry! I—GAH!" Ron's excitement gurgled off in horror as he entered the room to find his best friend straddling the pointy-faced git that sometimes lost to him in chess. "Fucking hell, Harry!" he exclaimed, covering his face with both hands and causing Harry to roll his eyes. Honestly, they were both _clothed._ "Warn a bloke before doing something possibly heart-stopping like that. I mean, bloody hell! After hunting down Horcruxes and battling the forces of darkness and evil, there's only so much my poor heart can take. Seeing you straddle the Ferret might just do me in where You-Know-Who failed."

"Ron!" Harry scolded at the same moment Draco cried "Hey!" and made a rude hand gesture, but he sighed and rolled off of Malfoy, who looked even more upset about the loss of contact than about the hurtful nickname and turned enraged eyes onto Ron, who had finally lowered his hands enough to peer at them.

"You and your bloody family, Weasley. Harry! Tell him about my wit's end!" Malfoy demanded theatrically.

"Erm, he's at it," Harry shrugged sheepishly.

"Too right I am. Now whatever business it is that had you knocking so insistently, kindly complete it or forget it, whatever takes the shortest amount of time, and then do us all a favor and politely _fuck off._ Harry and I wish to be left _alone._ Feel free to use your limited creativity imagining what I may mean by _alone._ Unless you wish for me to detail it for you?" he asked pointedly.

Harry flushed and looked at the ceiling as Ron began spluttering in horror. "No! No, Malfoy! That's all right!" he cried, and then muttered under his breath, "Poncy fucking ferret."

"Did you need something, Ron?" Harry asked loudly, cutting off whatever Malfoy had been about to respond with.

Ron cheered somewhat at the reminder. "Yeah, mate! There's a Quidditch game happening! More like a mini-tournament, really. But the teams are random and people are constantly switching out, so anyone can play. I came to get you and grab my broom; Seamus and Dean and everyone are all already down there."

Quidditch. Did the sport hold any interest for Harry any longer? He tried to recall the feeling of soaring through the sky on only a thin piece of wood to hold him safe, looking down and seeing a distant patchwork earth; tiny specks of faces and faraway blocks of color forming a quilt to gaze upon; he tried to remember the swooping feeling in his gut he got every time he dove for the Snitch or dodged a bludger. The memories all felt muted somehow, almost numb, and he wasn't sure what it would feel like any longer. Maybe it was time to find out. Maybe it was time to rediscover that part of himself again, especially with Malfoy by his side.

Glancing at Malfoy caused the sudden memory of the last time he _had_ been on a broomstick to crash through him forcefully; flames surrounding him, crackling, shrieking, dancing across any surface they could, consuming everything in a thick choking black cloud of smoke that he tried to navigate through, even though his eyes watered and stung and he could barely see and his throat felt scorched and part of him was fully convinced that he was going to die. And he knew that he couldn't leave Malfoy in there like that; not feeling the heavy drag of air into his lungs and believing any breath might be his last, or feeling the blistering heat licking at his skin, getting closer and closer and hotter and hotter. No, not even Malfoy deserved that fate. He had more difficulty feeling the same way about Crabbe's fate, however, who had started the fucking fire in the first place.

But then Harry had dropped out of the sky and there was Malfoy and before he knew it the Slytherin was clambering onto the back of his broom and gripping him so tightly around the midsection that Harry was afraid he might rupture something vital, and then they were flying away from the flames and out the door into blessed cool and quiet safety. Sort of.

Harry saw shadows in Malfoy's eyes and wondered if he was thinking about the same moment. "Er, you go ahead, Ron. We'll be there in a bit," he said.

Ron shrugged as he lifted his broom. "Just make sure it's soon, yeah?" He paused in the doorway and turned back to them. "And for the love of Merlin's saggy fucking bollocks, do not ever do that to me again."

The door clicked shut and there was a heavy silence that Harry felt nervous breaking. "Did you want to, er, go? Down? To the pitch? To play, that is?"

Malfoy shrugged indifferently. "We can if you wish, Potter."

"We really don't have to," Harry pointed out. "I mean, the last time I rode a broomstick…" he trailed off and noticed a slight tremor run through Malfoy. "I'm sorry," he apologized hastily. "I shouldn't have brought it up…I didn't mean—"

Malfoy held up one hand in a placating manner. "It's all right." His tone was calm but his eyes still appeared hooded and Harry instinctively pulled him close.

"We really don't have to play," he said, but Malfoy shook his head.

"No, I think it's time I finally faced down a broomstick. I mean, if I'm able to face _you_ again after everything, I can certainly handle looking a bloody broomstick in the eye. Er, handle?"

Harry smiled. "All right. Let's go get your broom."

Draco shifted uncomfortably and looked away. "I don't have one," he admitted. "Mother sold them all to pay my family's war reparations and Father's legal fees after the Ministry seized nearly all of our funds. She sold most of the art and furniture as well." He continued to speak to the wall, either unable or unwilling to look Harry in the eye as his voice shook and a tremor passed through his slim frame as he confessed things that Harry was certain he had not told anybody else. "The only reason we were allowed to keep the Manor is because of the blood magic and wards that are attuned solely to members of my family. So she was given the choice between house arrest or exile; she chose France," Draco paused for a moment to inhale deeply. "She might have tried to stay if my father had been granted visitation, but he won't be eligible for that for at least twenty years, a punishment thought appropriate for committing the crime of housing the Dark Lord. Christ," Draco's breath hitched dryly and he finally turned his head to look Harry in the eye. "I'll be fucking middle-aged by the time I have the chance to see my father again."

The sight of Draco trying almost desperately to hold back tears seemed to break something inside of Harry. His own eyes prickled in sympathy as he gently tucked the blond head against the hollow of his throat and leaned them both back against the pillows. He could feel the puffs of Draco's warm breath against his neck.

"I'm sorry," Harry said regretfully, wishing he could say more. He wished a lot of things; he wished so much was so different. He wished Draco's father had never been awful or prejudiced, or ever made terrible decisions that had endangered both his wife and child. He wished he knew Draco's feelings on the man and wished they weren't so complicated.

"I know that he did horrible things," Draco whispered, clenching the fabric of Harry's t-shirt tightly, "but he's my father. He wasn't the best father, not by any means, but I know he loves me." Despite the words, his voice sounded doubtful and Harry's heart clenched painfully.

"Of course he does," he soothed. "Of course he loves you. I saw him after the forest, you know; he didn't care about the war or about Voldemort or about his own life at that point. He was focused completely on finding you, making sure you were safe. Same with your mother. She lied to Voldemort's face just to get the chance to enter the castle to search for you. Not many people have lied to him and lived."

Malfoy said nothing and Harry was shocked to feel a hot splash of something wet against his neck. Was that a teardrop? Was Draco Malfoy crying?

"Both our parents wanted to shield us from the Dark Lord; only mine fucking followed the maniac first," he sniffed.

Harry shrugged. "People make bad decisions. I'm just sorry that you suffered as a result of theirs."

More burning tears dripped onto Harry's skin. "I deserved it, didn't I? I know how horrible I was; to you, especially. I deserved something bad to happen to me. And the universe fucking delivered in the form of pure fucking evil sleeping in my fucking _house._ And my aunt," he shuddered. "God, it might have been worse living with her than the Dark Lord."

Harry swallowed with difficulty at the thought of Bellatrix Lestrange. "She's dead now," he reminded in a harsh voice.

"Thank God," Draco agreed, nodding into his throat.

"No, just Molly Weasley."

"Would that be an odd thing, do you think, to thank Molly Weasley for?" Malfoy wondered and Harry chuckled darkly.

"Trust me," he said, "I've thanked her enough times for the both of us."

Draco fidgeted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry for that, by the way," he finally whispered. "For the loss of your g-godfather and my family's part in it."

Harry shook his head. "It's not your fault, Draco. You had nothing to do with it and you have nothing to be sorry for. I know exactly whose fault it is." His words had taken on a biting tone and Draco lifted his head to peer at him.

"What do you mean?" he finally asked, tears slowing in his curiosity.

"I mean, it's my fault that Sirius died," Harry shrugged. "I'm completely responsible and you have nothing to be sorry for."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Draco demanded. "My deranged aunt is the one who fucking killed him."

"Yes," Harry agreed patiently, "but I'm the reason he was there. I'm the reason they were all there. I was stupid and impulsive and reckless and Sirius paid for it and I'm just lucky the rest of them weren't killed as well." He tried to make his voice as detached as possible but knew he was failing miserably. The familiar burning self-loathing had begun churning immediately through the pit of his stomach at the first thought of Sirius.

Draco pulled himself upwards to stare down at Harry with a fierce expression. "Now you listen here, Potter. You are not the villain in this. Losing your godfather whilst attempting to rescue him does not make you responsible, it makes you a _victim of misfortune_. Being mind-raped by the Dark Lord into believing he was currently torturing and only moments away from _killing_ the only parental figure you had up until that point does not make it _your_ fault. Lay the blame at the feet of my aunt and the Dark Lord; they are the individuals to be held accountable."

Harry heard the words; Hermione and Dumbledore had both told him similar things: it wasn't his fault, Voldemort had tricked him, Sirius had made his own decision to go to the Ministry. But Harry knew who was really to blame. If he hadn't been so reckless, rushing in without a moment's hesitation, if he had just _listened_ to Hermione for five seconds, or taken just a few minutes to think it through more; if he had just remembered Snape and gone to him earlier…

"Fucking hell Potter, you really are quite set on taking on far more than your fair share of martyrdom, aren't you?" Draco sounded frustrated. "Listen to me," he jerked Harry's chin down to force him to meet his eye. "It. Is. Not. Your. Fault." Each word was pronounced slowly. "I know exactly what you're thinking; you're shit at hiding your emotions. So stop it right now, because I'm telling you that you did _nothing_ wrong."

Harry nodded, but it was stiff and mechanical and Draco growled in annoyance. "Would you blame me for Vincent's death?" he asked suddenly, startling Harry into automatically responding.

"Of course not!" he exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up. Crabbe's death was hardly Malfoy's fault. The boy had been killed by the very fire he had started.

"But I was the reason he was there," Draco argued. "If it weren't for me, he never would have been in the Room of Hidden Things."

Harry tightened his hold on the boy in his arms. "So? He was the one who fucking started the fire, that wasn't your fault!" Draco looked doubtful so Harry continued. "Just because he followed you there didn't mean you could foresee him going mental and trying to kill all of us! You're not to blame for his decision! You're not responsible for the actions of others, Draco!" He stopped short at the triumphant gleam in Malfoy's eye and swallowed hard.

"Right," he finally muttered, "fucking Slytherins."

"Do you get it now?" Draco asked seriously.

Harry swallowed again and nodded. "Yeah," he said weakly, "yeah, all right, I get it."

The blond kissed him lightly and laid his head against Harry's chest. "So, what's our next move?" he asked curiously. "Did you want to go down to the pitch?"

Harry wanted nothing more than to pick back up where they had left off before all the interruptions and painful discussions. But the past hour had been too tumultuous; there had been too many serious words exchanged to recapture the relaxed excitement of earlier.

They lay in each other's arms in silence for several minutes before Harry answered. "Yes," he said finally. "I don't want that to be your last memory of riding a broom." Malfoy nodded, pressing his lips to Harry's throat for a moment. "Besides, we've never flown together, you know," he added with a smile.

"What are you talking about, Potter? We've played against each other numerous times," Draco pointed out.

Harry shook his head. "Yes, but we've never just _flown_ together. You know? Without the animosity and the Houses and the rivalry and the competition. Just us flying."

Draco stared at him with an unreadable expression for a second before leaping from the bed and tugging Harry into a sitting position. "Yes, all right then. Let's go. Where is your broomstick?" He peered around the room as if expecting to see Harry's Firebolt bronzed and on display on the wall.

"It's lost," Harry replied simply.

"Lost?" Draco echoed. "How does one lose a broomstick, Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "I just did."

Draco stared for a long moment but eventually allowed it to pass. "Well, school brooms for us it is, then," he sighed unenthusiastically.

"We've survived worse," Harry pointed out.

"Yes, but I thought my suffering was _over,"_ Draco grumbled and Harry fought a smile as they headed down to the field.

 _Never throws tantrums, my arse_.

oOo

Despite Malfoy's misgivings, the school brooms weren't horrible and he was soon laughing and darting around the air on his borrowed Cleansweep Six. Harry had found an old Siberian Arrow that tended to veer much too far to the right, but none of the players were keeping track of the score and Harry was trying his hand at Chasing. He liked it but found himself missing being able to block out everything else and focus entirely on the Snitch and the other Seeker.

The other Seeker in question was Luna Lovegood, and she waved dreamily to Harry from across the pitch, her broomstick drifting almost drunkenly to the side. Malfoy was playing Keeper for her team, something Harry delighted in every time he went in with the Quaffle. The blond was a somewhat decent Keeper, but he was no Oliver Wood, something Harry took advantage of until he was hanging off his broom, gasping with laughter at the barely-muttered threats Malfoy was making towards the Quaffle if it dare go into the hoop one more time.

From the air, Harry could spy both Zabini and Parkinson sitting in the stands watching the game, Parkinson clearly having been dragged by Zabini. But they had both shown up and Harry was pleased that they were sitting next to Hermione as she took breaks from studying to watch Ron bat bludgers at Harry, who was shaking his head fondly down at Hermione as he watched her read. Some things never changed. In fact, he couldn't remember a single Quidditch match that Hermione had attended without one, or usually several, books in tow.

A sudden breeze swept up the pitch, forcing Harry to adjust his grip on his broom handle and feeling a sharp twinge in his shoulder when he did so. Signaling to Seamus to send another player in for him, he swooped low before dropping suddenly down into the stands to land smoothly on the bench right next to Hermione.

"Harry," Blaise greeted, cocking his head and smiling cheerfully.

Harry automatically smiled back. Blaise really was nice.

"Blaise. Pansy." Harry had been trying to get into the habit lately of calling both Slytherins by their given names, but he often had to remind himself first.

Parkinson glanced up at him briefly. "Potter."

For a moment, Harry felt frozen in shock. Not once that year had she spoken to him. She had never once spoken in his presence _period._ Maybe Draco had finally gotten through to her? Instantly Harry wanted to say something to test it, but he was worried about severing this possible fragile thread that had just sprung up between them.

"Er, are you two not playing?" he asked.

Blaise laughed. "Draco and I have never been able to convince Pans to get on a broom," he nudged her. "And she's threatened the wellbeing of my bollocks if I abandon her to the mercy of any Gryffindors just to play Quidditch." Parkinson turned angry eyes onto Zabini but he ignored them.

Stretching both arms, Harry winced at the pain in his upper back. The flash of discomfort was noticed instantly by an intrigued-looking Blaise. "How's the shoulder, Potter?" he asked, looking concerned.

Harry shrugged and winced again. It had been a while since he'd last played Quidditch. "Mostly fine, long as I keep it still." He shrugged again and immediately reprimanded himself.

"Want me to rub it for you?" Blaise offered.

At the offer, Harry's eyes widened but he quickly recovered. "No, that's all right. It'll be fine." He just needed sleep and a hot shower and it would be back to normal once more.

"Where did Draco disappear to?" Harry wondered, squinting up into the bright sky and hoping that the subject change would be enough of a distraction for Zabini.

As though summoned by the sound of his name, Draco dropped down into the stands in front of them. "Pansy, Blaise," he nodded before turning to Harry and smirking. "And there's the runaway Chaser. My team scare you away?"

"Yeah, Draco, you and _Luna_ scared me away," Harry snorted, "If you must know, my shoulder hurts from scoring so many points, actually, so I'm taking a break."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "You listen here, Potter, I will play you one-on-one anytime. Seeker's game, you and me. Anytime you like."

Harry sniggered. "Sure, Malfoy. Bring it on. I'll be a gentleman, however, and graciously allow you the opportunity to rescind your challenge anytime you come the fuck to your senses."

"Hmm, I suppose we'll just have to wait and see who will be the one _rescinding,_ won't we?" Malfoy leered. Zabini's curious eyes darted between the two boys; Parkinson had fixed her steely gaze on Harry and he felt rather fidgety under the scrutiny of three Slytherins.

Hermione was the one to come to his rescue. "Did Ron happen to mention how much longer he plans to remain out here?" she asked from behind her book, lowering it just enough to peer over the top.

"Not sure," Harry told her. "I mean, he's having the time of his life, isn't he? Just look at him." He gestured to where Ron flew through the air, swinging his bat and bellowing with delight. Hermione followed Ron with a soft look before starting slightly and coughing.

"Yes, well, I suppose I can stay out here and watch him for a bit longer."

Harry hid a smile. Course she could.

"Does your shoulder really hurt?" Draco asked suddenly, concern thinly veiled beneath a casual tone.

"Yeah, quite a bit, actually," Harry admitted. Now that he was on the ground and the adrenaline of the game had faded, his shoulder was beginning to stiffen and throb.

"I offered to massage it for him," Blaise sighed, "but he chose suffering like a true martyr."

Draco tensed and slowly turned to gaze at his friend. "Did you now? That was rather nice." His tone was suspicious.

"I am a rather nice man," Blaise beamed angelically.

"Yes, well, if you care about your shoulder, Potter, you'll take it to the Hospital Wing first," Draco said in a clipped tone. "Blaise once accidentally turned Greg's collarbone magnetic trying to 'help' him. Imagine what chaos might befall the wizarding world if he managed to turn the Chosen One _magnetic?"_

"Care to find out, Harry?" Blaise asked teasingly, twirling his wand. "I'm sure most of the population would be quite happy to find themselves stuck to someone as fit as you. I know I certainly would."

One corner of Harry's mouth pulled up in a half-grin and he shook his head. "I don't think I would be as happy about it, though." He turned to smirk at Malfoy only to find him silently seething, glaring at Blaise as if he would like nothing more than to rip out the man's intestines with his fingernails. Blaise only smiled innocently at Draco, resulting in the blond's anger worsening.

"I'm going to find Seamus," Harry said quickly, standing and throwing a leg over his broom in a hasty attempt to escape before Malfoy could explode at the other boy.

Hermione sighed with relief. "If you see Ron, let him know I went back to the castle, all right?" Not waiting for a response, she shoved her book into her bag and left hastily, almost bruising Harry as she swung the heavy bag over her shoulder.

Waving in agreement, he kicked off into the air, gritting his teeth against the ache in his shoulder and glancing back down at the stands. Blaise looked slightly less comfortable at suddenly finding himself alone in the company of his fellow Housemates. Harry watched with amusement as Draco advanced on the dark-skinned teen menacingly—he would never understand the mercurial friendships of the Slytherins.

Circling the pitch for a few moments, Harry landed near the edge of the crowd on the grass below and chatted with Neville for several minutes before his neck started tingling with a prickly awareness of being watched. Just as he turned to scan the crowd, a large shape loomed over him and seized him roughly in a tight bear hug. "Harry!" the shape exclaimed gruffly. "It's been bloody _years."_ The arms didn't release him and his face was squashed awkwardly into the other man's (it was definitely a man's) shaggy brown hair. Harry shoved against the chest until the arms loosened enough for him to peer up at the face so near his own. The familiar features were instantly recognizable and he felt his jaw drop wide in surprise.

 _"Oliver?"_

Oliver Wood beamed and nodded, arms still wrapped around Harry tightly.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked stupidly, glancing around as if his surroundings might answer the question for him. "Last I heard, you'd just been traded to the Kestrels."

"Been following my career, eh, Harry?" Wood smiled slyly and for some reason, Harry blushed.

"A bit," he shrugged. "They do occasionally print something in the paper worth reading."

"Oh, I dunno, Harry," Wood said, eyes glinting mysteriously as he finally dropped his arms but made no move to step back. "I think I've read just about every article that even mentions your name. Many of 'em are shite, of course, but there are more than a few I found fascinating."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Right, I'm sure you're quite the fanatic," he snorted sarcastically.

"Don't believe me, eh?" Oliver's eyebrows rose challengingly. "Quiz me, then."

Harry gaped at him. "I'm not going to quiz you on my personal life, Oliver."

Oliver huffed good-naturedly. "There really hasn't been any mention lately of your personal life. Why don't you tell me all about it and I won't have to rely on the _Prophet_ for my Potter updates?"

Harry shrugged. "Not much to tell, really. Unless you're interested in how my homework is coming along."

Oliver grinned. "Not sure I believe that. There must be _something_ happening."

Harry's brain instantly flashed with memories of Draco; holding Draco and whispering to Draco and feeling more secure in Draco's arms than he had ever remembered feeling. But none of that was something he could or wanted to share with his old Quidditch captain.

"I heard that you and Ginny Weasley broke up," Oliver said, causing Harry to splutter and cough. Even _Oliver_ had heard about that?

"I, uh, yeah. Yeah, we did," he affirmed. He hadn't been expecting to get asked about his romantic life. He had thought that Oliver had meant the standard regular questions: such as, what was Harry going to do after graduation? How many Quidditch teams had already made him offers, and so on.

"So who's the new lucky person in your life?" Wood asked, still smiling widely.

"Person?" Harry echoed. "What makes you think there's a new person?"

"Oh come now, Harry," Oliver snorted. "You can't honestly expect me to believe that the Saviour is going to remain single for any length of time, can you? Not with the entire wizarding world lusting after you." He pinned Harry with a heated gaze that traveled slowly up and down his body. "Not without good reason, too. You're certainly all grown up now, aren't you?"

The comment caused the skin of Harry's face to instantly grow hot; he could feel himself turning red and decided to change the subject, hoping to never again discuss how many strangers lusted after him. "So, what are you doing here, Oliver? You never told me."

Oliver grinned. "My brother made the Quidditch team and plays his first game in a couple days. He asked me to help him train so I've been coming up for the past week to fly with him."

"That's really sweet of you," Harry smiled. "Taking time from your crazy Quidditch schedule to help train your little brother?" At that Oliver's smile widened, revealing the familiar dimples that Harry had dreamt about a time or two when he'd been younger.

"You should come up with us," Oliver invited. "Finlay is right over there." As he spoke he pointed to a small knot of younger students standing clustered together some distance away, all clutching broomsticks and laughing.

"What team is he?" Harry squinted but was unable to discern any colors the boy might have been wearing.

"He plays Chaser for Hufflepuff," Oliver answered proudly, and Harry smiled at the sound of the man's voice. Hearing it reminded him of late-night Quidditch practice; playing well into the dark and cold and sometimes biting rain, returning sore and muddy; he remembered all the times arriving back at the dorm well after the sun had disappeared, dirtied and frozen and sore and the feel of easing his aching muscles under the scalding spray of a hot shower; of listening to Oliver Wood's determined pep talks and feeling his own heart pound with excitement. He heard the man's voice and instantly smelled the wood of the broom shed; varnish and handles and _familiar._ He heard his voice and felt the steam of the changing room showers; heard the laughter of his teammates and felt the hushed, grim determination that would settle over them before a match; he recalled how his body would tense tight in anticipation and how hard it had been to wait for Madam Hooch to blow the whistle to kick off. Oliver _was_ Quidditch; the man had represented the sport for Harry for the entire three years he played under his captaincy. Even after he had graduated, _Quidditch_ and _Oliver Wood_ remained somewhat synonymous.

Quidditch had been one of the most freeing experiences in Harry's life; he had found such excitement and bliss on a broomstick, diving and twisting; searching for the tiny gold speck and keeping watch on the whereabouts of the other players out of the corner of one eye. And it had been Oliver who had taken him and explained the sport; he had trained Harry and coached him and believed in him and they had even won the Quidditch Cup together one year.

"Sure, Oliver," he accepted. "I'd love to help you coach him."

"Just wait 'til he finds out that not only does he get to fly with Harry Potter, but the Chosen One is going to help train him as well," Wood smirked. "He and all his little friends have crushes on you, you know."

Harry's lips twitched. Crushes. Right.

He began rethinking his earlier amusement when they approached the knot of students and they all seemed to turn as one to stare at Harry in wide-eyed awe.

"Finlay!" Oliver called and jerked his head to beckon him over. "Grab your broom, Harry's coming up with us."

Finlay flushed as he stared at Harry. Chewing his bottom lip nervously, he stepped forward and nearly tripped over the broomstick held loosely in his grasp. It tore from his hands and slapped to the ground with a hard _thwack._ Under the heat of Oliver's disapproving stare and folded arms, as well as the titters of his Housemates, his blush deepened. Ducking his head he quickly bent to pick the broom up.

Looking away from his younger brother, Wood turned his gaze to Harry and every ounce of disapproval was gone, nothing but an open, genuine smile stretching across his handsome features, features both familiar and yet more rugged than Harry remembered. The man's eyes flicked over Harry's body from head to toe before he turned and headed beyond the stadium to where a large crate and broomstick lay, Finlay scampering hastily behind him.

Harry turned to follow the two but paused as the tingling awareness of being watched prickled his neck yet again. Draco Malfoy was examining him intently from several yards away, broom handle clenched tightly in both fists and face a curiously blank mask.

Ignoring the twinge in his shoulder, Harry jogged over to him. "Where are Parkinson and Zabini?" he asked, peering around for sight of them.

"They left." Draco's tone was light, conversational, and it immediately made Harry uneasy.

"Oh, right," he responded lamely, but Draco ignored him.

"And what are your plans now, then?" the blond asked politely, tone sounding bored and uninterested, as though Harry had asked him the question first and Draco was returning it out of polite obligation. Harry's sense of unease grew.

"Oliver's visiting and I told him that I would help train his little brother for his first game on Saturday."

The knuckles wrapped around the handle of the Cleansweep Six whitened, but when Draco spoke his voice was suspiciously calm. "Yes, I imagine you two have quite a lot of _catching up_ to do, hmm?" The mild tone was belied by the dangerous narrowing of his eyes.

"Well, I mean, I haven't seen him in a few years," Harry ran a hand through his hair awkwardly. "Not really. I mean, I saw him at the battle, but we didn't really get a chance to talk, or anything, you know?" When he had accepted the invitation he hadn't thought it to be a big deal, but he definitely did not want Malfoy to be upset with him over it.

Draco was silent for several moments and Harry wasn't sure if he should be the first to break this stand-off.

"I'm sure it'll be lovely, Harry, catching up with an old friend," Draco suddenly said in a gracious voice, startling the Gryffindor, who had been expecting thinned lips and barely contained anger. But Draco's grip had loosened on the broom handle and he looked more or less sincere. "Go, Harry. Go catch up with your old captain and come find me later, all right?"

Harry smiled gratefully. "Of course, love. I won't be long."

Turning, he could feel Draco's eyes on his back the entire walk to the open crate spread out below the shadows of Oliver and Finlay, already airborne, but when he turned back to look, the blond was nowhere to be seen.

The worry instantly uncoiled in his gut the instant he kicked off from the ground and felt the rush of wind through his hair. God, but he had missed flying. How had he forgotten this feeling? This feeling of complete freedom, utter abandon? Harry ascended in tight, dizzying circles, then started and laughed when Oliver suddenly appeared right in front of his broom to spiral higher and higher with him.

"Been a while for you, has it?" Wood called. "Other than earlier when you discovered your Chasing abilities?"

"You were watching?" Harry asked in surprise. The circles had slowed to a lethargic drift. Oliver hovered in front of him, strong and relaxed. Harry could see the hard muscles of his forearms beneath the tight sleeves of his navy jumper, bunching and relaxing as he changed position or shifted his grip.

"Of course, seeing as I'm the one who trained you," the owner of those forearms grinned. "I needed to make sure you didn't embarrass me or anything."

"And did I?" One corner of Harry's mouth quirked up in a grin. He felt fairly certain that Wood's coaching reputation was safe, something affirmed when Oliver shook his head. Harry could see Finlay drifting below, staring up at the two of them.

"Well, we came up for a reason, didn't we?" Harry asked, dropping into a steep dive and pulling up sharply alongside the Hufflepuff boy, who gasped and flushed, saying nothing but blushing deeper when Oliver chuckled.

They were out much longer than Harry had expected; twilight had fallen on the empty pitch when they finally packed up the crate and Oliver walked the two of them back to the Entrance Hall.

"See you tomorrow, Ollie, yeah?" Finlay asked cheerfully. Harry had found that he liked the younger boy once he actually began speaking to Harry instead of only staring at him in nervous silence.

"Course," Oliver responded, reaching out a hand to ruffle his younger brother's hair affectionately.

"What about you, Harry?" Finlay asked as he ducked Oliver's hand. "Will you be there?" Harry hesitated. He didn't want to agree quickly like last time only to further upset Draco. "Please?" Finlay's voice was pleading and uncertain and Harry remembered how he had felt the days before his first Quidditch match.

"Possibly," he said cautiously. "I'll find one of you tomorrow and let you know, all right?"

"All right then, Harry," Finlay sounded slightly disappointed. "See you guys," he waved and went back inside, leaving Harry and Oliver alone in the torchlight.

"That was fun, flying together again," Oliver turned to face him, "You should definitely come tomorrow."

"It was fun," Harry nodded. "Although, I did sort of miss the absence of one of your famous maniacal speeches."

"Would you like one?" Oliver laughed. "I still have them memorized by heart."

"So do I." The corners of Harry's lips twitched.

"I'll definitely see you Saturday at the game, right?" Oliver stepped closer to Harry, who took an automatic step back, an action he hadn't realized he'd made until he saw Oliver's frown in the torchlight.

A Quidditch match. God, Harry hadn't been to a match in _ages._ Playing the sport earlier had brought back some of the excitement he had once felt on the pitch. Surely he could convince Draco to attend with him; they could invite Zabini and drag Parkinson along. They would sit in some neutral stand, maybe with the Hufflepuffs, and maybe they could sit in the very back and Harry could hold Draco's hand as they watched the game, and Harry already knew that he would end up watching the blond far more than the game, but that was okay because Draco really was beautiful and Harry missed him.

"Yeah, sure, Oliver. I'll see you there and I'll let you know about tomorrow." Harry took a couple of steps backward and lifted a hand in farewell.

"Goodnight, Harry," Oliver's eyes glittered in the starry purple of the deepening twilight.

Harry turned from the sight. "Night, Oliver," he called over his shoulder, as he hurried inside and up to the dorm to fetch the Map. Now that he was back inside the castle, his focus was once more on Draco. Where would the blond be? It was much later than Harry had initially thought. The corridors were mostly empty, most students having long retreated to their common rooms or dorms for the night. Harry ignored the dull ache in his shoulder as he jogged up the stairs to the room he shared with Ron. Once inside, he glanced down at himself and immediately made the decision to take a quick shower.

Once he was clean and changed and smelled much nicer, he glanced at the Map for several moments before spying Draco's dot, once again, in Snape's old office. The journey down to the dungeons was swift and largely incident-free. The door to the office had been left unlocked, something Harry changed the moment he was on the other side.

Draco lay on Snape's desk with his robes folded under his head like a pillow and his shirt halfway unbuttoned. His tie lay pooled atop the table in a silky green puddle and his thin legs were bent at the knees. The wand between his pale fingers was held like a cigarette, and Harry watched in fascination as Draco rhythmically flicked the wand every few seconds, sending colored smoke rings out of the tip. His eyes snapped onto Harry and his wand dropped. "How was Wood?" he asked casually.

"Fine," Harry shrugged and immediately flinched. _Fucking idiot_ , he thought savagely as his shoulder burned at the careless movement.

Draco sat up and peered at him carefully. "Are you all right, Potter?"

Harry caught himself just before he shrugged again and nodded instead. "My shoulder's a bit sore is all." He rotated his left shoulder and grimaced, slowing his movements at the dull throb. Maybe Pomphrey could give him a couple Pain Relieving Potions in the morning.

Draco hopped off the desk and took a few steps closer, looking concerned. "Which shoulder?" he asked as he steered Harry into a chair.

"Erm, my left, but I mean really, it's fine, I don't think…" the words of protest trailed off into a deep groan as Malfoy began massaging the knot of muscles between Harry's shoulder and neck. His fingers were brilliant, Harry decided as he let out another moan. His head dropped onto the desk in front of him and he lost track of the time as he focused on the feel of Draco's lovely, wonderful fingers kneading away the stiffness in his muscles.

"Merlin, Harry, you are tense, aren't you?" The blond's voice slid over Harry's skin like smooth velvet.

"Only when you're not around," he murmured, breathing in sharply as Malfoy dug into a particularly taut bundle of muscle. "I missed you." The fingers stilled for a moment and Harry felt lips press into the skin at the back of his neck.

"I missed you too, Harry," Draco breathed.

But the next moment he stepped back and Harry felt a chill at the loss. Until Malfoy spoke. "Take off your shirt and lie down on the desk." The surface against his forehead quivered and changed and he raised his head in curiosity to see that Draco had transfigured the large rectangular desktop into something much softer and more comfortable. Wanting to fully test the comfort, Harry hastened to comply, sighing as he peeled off his shirt and stretched out on his stomach on the newly transfigured surface before Malfoy straddled his hips and his talented fingers began the massage anew.

"So what did you and Wood talk about?" the voice above him asked conversationally.

Harry removed his glasses and closed his eyes, lowering his cheek to the transfigured bed and relaxing. "Oh, Quidditch and his career for a bit," he mumbled. Draco's hands were amazing and Harry was fairly certain he was using magic because it felt _brilliant._ "His brother's not a bad Chaser." Draco hummed and deepened the massage as Harry's groans grew louder. "Fuck, Draco, that feels incredible."

"Blaise gives incredible massages," Draco informed him and Harry felt a twinge of jealousy. Was that something else the two Slytherins had practiced together? "Maybe you shouldn't have turned down his offer to rub your shoulder for you." His hands slid lower along the muscles of Harry's back.

"I don't want him touching me." Harry's breath hitched as Draco's fingers ghosted over his sides.

"So who _do_ you want touching you?" Draco mused, bending to press a kiss between the shoulder blades beneath him.

"Only you," Harry arched into the touch. Hands slid down his back, settling on his waist and turning him over and then they were kissing and Malfoy's shirt had been completely unbuttoned and tossed somewhere. He was sitting directly on Harry's hips and it felt _fucking amazing_ when he rocked forward like that and Harry had never wanted the blond more than he did right then but he stilled as Draco fumbled with the button and zipper on his jeans.

"What is it?" Draco panted as Harry's fingers encircled the Slytherin's wrists, halting his attempts at fully exposing him.

"I dunno, isn't it weird and sort of wrong to do this in Snape's office? On his _desk?"_ Harry felt as if Snape's spirit could see them and was currently glaring down at him in otherworldly spectral detest for his most loathed student tainting his office and memory with the defilement of his favorite pupil.

"Maybe a bit," Draco admitted, "but I _need_ you, Harry."

Harry looked up at him in surprise. He _needed_ him? Did anyone still need him anymore? "Need me?" he pondered aloud. Needed his what? His name, his money, his fame, his power? Needed him to throw himself recklessly into a dangerous situation with only a simple hope he would come out alive? Needed him to be the face of a generation? The poster child for justice and mercy and benevolence and love? Needed him to be the vanquisher of Malfoy's demons? Needed him to once more be a shield between evil and the world? Needed him to once again offer himself up as a sacrifice? Play the martyr? Did the world see him in any other terms? Wasn't that all he was good for? Suffering and dying? He didn't know how to be _needed_ by anyone. Ginny had never needed him, not in the way that Draco's eyes were telling Harry it was true. He felt lightheaded. Draco fucking Malfoy _needed_ him.

And maybe it wasn't Harry Potter that he needed. Maybe it was just Harry. Maybe for the first time, he would truly be allowed to be just Harry. Ever since he had set foot in the wizarding world, he had been Harry Potter: the Boy-Who-Lived. Even with Ron and Hermione, in ways. They had both met him knowing exactly who he was. Hell, they had both met him knowing so much more about his own life than he himself had. He had been Harry Potter to them first; the Boy-Who-Fucking-Lived.

With a start, he realized that Draco had been the first wizard he had spoken to that had not known who he was. After Hagrid, Malfoy had been the first in the unfamiliar magical world that he had made some sort of connection with, albeit a rather unpleasant one.

And now Draco Malfoy _needed_ him. He needed him in the exact same way that Harry needed him now, which was always. He would always need the blond and always love him and only Draco could make Harry's heart pound fiercely like this and make the blood boil in his veins. Draco had changed everything; he had changed Harry so fundamentally that the black-haired teen could hardly recall what he had been without Draco—he knew it hadn't been much.

"I need you too, Draco." He yanked the Slytherin down to meet him in a brief kiss, pulling back just enough to whisper, "I love you," against his lips.

Draco moaned and melted into the kiss for a moment before pulling back to stare Harry in the eye. "Fuck me, Harry," he whispered.

Harry's breath hitched. Fuck him? Now? It didn't sound like a horrible idea, but Harry knew he had reasons, good reasons, for hesitating. Hmm, something to do with homework, maybe? But no, Harry had finished his homework. Mostly. No, it was something about detention? Maybe for not completing his homework? But Harry hadn't gotten detention since sixth year. Since Snape.

Fuck! Snape!

With the reminder of the greasy-haired Potions master, the sallow specter of the dead professor rushed back into the forefront of Harry's mind. Knowing what he knew about Snape and his mother, it was just too fucking weird to think of their first time happening _here._

"We can't, Draco," he declined haltingly. "I want to!" Draco's eyes flashed hurt and he hastened to continue. "But not here! I can't, in here…it feels like Snape is watching, you know?" He glanced around uneasily as if expecting Snape to jump out and start deducting House points.

"Yeah, all right," Draco sighed. "I suppose this really isn't the place, is it?" He slid off of Harry and both boys sat up. Harry swung one leg up to lay it on the desk before pulling the blond into the v of his body, tucking one pale shoulder against his chest and resting his chin on it.

"Besides, I want our first time to be…special, you know?" Harry confessed, staring determinedly at Malfoy's hair and not meeting his eye. "I want it to be somewhere that we don't have to rush or leave to separate dorms afterwards. I want us to be able to spend the entire night together."

Draco smiled and kissed the tip of Harry's nose lightly. "My very own Gryffindor romantic," he sighed fondly.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry flushed. Was he being too sappy? Was that not something that Draco wanted as well?

But Draco cupped his cheek and kissed between his eyebrows and murmured, "I love it. I love _you._ I love that you want it to be special because that's what I want, too." Harry nuzzled into Draco's touch and sighed. Of course it would be special.

They stayed like that for a while, Draco stroking Harry's face and hair, whispering the occasional endearment and returning the small declarations of love. Harry's eyes were closed and his arms were tight around Malfoy's warm body and he felt more relaxed than he could ever remember feeling as he sat there drawing slow breaths, for once completely content.

"It's late," Draco finally spoke. "We should probably go." Harry nodded but made no other movement.

Jolting, he caught himself as Draco slid suddenly from the table to stand beside him. "Come along, darling," Malfoy cooed, as he helped Harry to his feet. "Walk me to my dorm, yes?"

Smiling, Harry wrapped an arm around his waist and happily obliged. Once they arrived at the dungeons, his chivalry was rewarded with a long and passionate goodnight kiss—one that left Harry feeling as if he was still high in the air, swooping through the clouds on a broomstick.

He stumbled up to his bed and dreamt of pale skin and blond hair.


	5. Chapter 5

When Harry awoke the next morning, it was to heavy grey skies and the faint stirrings of a storm breeze. By the time he made it down to breakfast, the enchanted ceiling was beginning to drip rain in desultory silence above their heads. Mumbling a heartfelt thank you to Hermione as she slid a steaming mug of coffee in front of him, he yawned. What would he do without his friends?

Feeling a familiar grey gaze on him, he looked up and caught Draco's eye from across the Hall, trading smirks. Zabini smiled and waved from beside him and Harry returned the gesture sleepily before turning to look at Draco again, who was now staring murderously at the other Slytherin.

"What's with the Hufflepuffs?" Ron asked curiously, jerking Harry out of his Draco-induced stupor and drawing his notice to the Hufflepuff table, only to find every single fourth year sitting together and whispering excitedly, many of them staring and pointing openly at Harry. Finlay Wood sat in the middle, making small gestures with his hands and flushing when Harry caught him staring.

Harry shrugged. "The one in the middle with the dark hair is Oliver Wood's little brother. He's here helping him get ready for his first game on Saturday. I flew with them for a bit yesterday."

At the mention of Quidditch, Ron launched into a detailed speculation on the conditions surrounding the upcoming game, listing the teams weaknesses and who he thought would be victorious. Harry tuned Ron out as he stared up at the ceiling, the sky grey and angry-looking. Maybe they wouldn't be able to train today. Should he wait and see what the weather would be and not chance mentioning to Draco that he wanted to spend more time with Oliver Wood? They were only going to be practicing Quidditch. Harry missed coaching the sport; he missed instructing other players and looking on with satisfaction at their grim determination to perfect every move; seeing them execute maneuvers he had taught them, performed word-for-word Harry's instruction. He could tell Oliver missed captaincy as well—he was far too passionate about the sport to sit idly by and not offer his help. They had gotten to relive some of that yesterday helping Finlay.

But with the fawning way the Hufflepuff in question was still staring at him, maybe Harry would be glad if they had to cancel due to weather.

The day passed and Harry still did not mention Quidditch or Oliver Wood to Draco, not wanting to upset him or bring back the tightness around his mouth that he had worn yesterday when discussing Harry's ex-captain. But Harry hadn't seen him in years and it was so nice to see a friendly face from the past. He tended to look back on the past in varying degrees of pain and horror; there were pleasant moments, but they were always overshadowed by the danger that had constantly stalked his every move. Oliver had been something solid in his life that he had learned to almost count on; certainly to look for. He hadn't always been on the best of terms with his old team, but they had all looked out for one another and trusted each other to a certain extent. That was back before he had Draco to lean on, cling to like a safety ring to buoy him up atop thrashing waves, waves that had already calmed greatly under the shining influence of Malfoy's presence. Fuck, Harry loved him. He loved Draco and Draco loved him and so of course he would understand about Harry wanting to help coach Finlay.

With a jolt, Harry suddenly realized that he _wanted._ He _wanted_ to coach the younger boy and he _wanted_ to play Quidditch occasionally and he _wanted_ to be on a broomstick again. When was the last time that he had wanted anything besides Draco? After the war, his life had become so dull and monotonous that he could not differentiate between the grey in his life enough to even have desires. And Harry knew that the blond was responsible for returning this feeling to him; the feeling of wanting—fuck, the feeling of just _feeling._ Harry might have never gotten on a broomstick again if not for Malfoy; he certainly would never have agreed to play Quidditch with Ron yesterday. If not for the timing of the Slytherin, he probably would have continued to pull further and further away from his best friends.

Before Draco had entered Harry's life, he had started slowly folding in on himself; collapsing into himself and becoming more isolated and alone; the longer time stretched the more content he had been to simply disappear, dissolve into an indifferent puff of smoke. Fade away without a fight.

Then Draco appeared in a streak of white, shooting across Harry's vision in a blinding flash of light like a comet that left him dazed and blinking. Once again he marveled at the fact that it had taken him _eighteen years_ to learn what contentment was. Happiness had always felt like such a fleeting emotion for Harry, but for the first time in his life, he was truly and perfectly _content._ It had taken seven years for Harry to realize how he felt about the blond, but now that he was fully aware, he intended to bind himself to Draco forever and never let go.

Harry sat next to him in Potions, squeezing his hand underneath the table occasionally and talking with Zabini. Parkinson still didn't say much, but she would actively follow the conversation with her eyes, opening her mouth once or twice as if to join in but always catching herself in time. Harry shrugged internally and knew she would get there.

The thought of Quidditch and Oliver had been momentarily forgotten about in class, but soon became all he could think about at the sight of an owl swooping down on him after the students had been dismissed. Hardly paying attention, he was strolling from the dungeons casually with his friends, laughing at some story that Blaise was telling when the owl suddenly dropped right in front of Harry, blocking his path and startling Blaise into losing his train of thought.

"Fuck, Potter, even the owls are stalking you," Zabini commented dryly.

Harry removed the letter from the owl's leg curiously. It was from Oliver Wood.

 _Harry_

 _I haven't heard from you yet on your answer. I really enjoyed yesterday and was hoping that you did as well._ _Please come? You know where I'll be._

 _Oliver_

The parchment was dropped the moment he glanced over and noticed Draco reading over his shoulder. The blond had tensed and his eyes had narrowed to slits.

" _What the_ fuck, _Potter?"_ he breathed dangerously. Hermione and Ron instantly began talking loudly and shuffling the intrigued Slytherins along the corridor. "What the _fuck_ does that all mean?" Harry raised a hand to Draco's neck, but the blond shoved his arm away roughly. Harry stumbled back half a step and stared at Draco with a hurt look.

Malfoy stalked forward and snatched the letter from Harry's grasp. " _I really enjoyed yesterday and was hoping that you did as well_?" he read sneeringly. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean, you complete and utter prat?" he spat the words in Harry's direction and it was like his sweet lovely Draco had once again morphed into the old Malfoy—all cold sneers and angry words.

"Nothing happened," Harry insisted, trying to snatch the parchment back.

" _You know where I'll be_?" Malfoy continued reading, stretching his arm back to keep the letter out of Harry's shorter reach. "Be for _what,_ Potter? What _exactly_ do the two of you have planned?"

"Nothing! Same as what happened yesterday!" Harry tried to reason but quickly hastened to explain when Malfoy snarled. "Quidditch! That's it! I swear! We were coaching his brother! _Nothing happened,_ Draco!"

"And in what way exactly did the two of you enjoy yesterday?" Malfoy asked coldly, arms folded tightly across his body and grey eyes staring at Harry with disdain.

"Just flying together," Harry answered, but held his hands up palm out when Malfoy's eyes flashed. "I swear Draco; I _promise_ that nothing happened between me and Oliver Wood!"

" _I haven't heard from you yet on your answer_?" Draco quoted mockingly. "What answer and what, dear Harry, was the question?"

"Just on whether or not I would be helping Finlay again today," he mumbled. Why hadn't he taken the chance earlier to mention it to Draco? This whole situation was spiraling into a disaster and he hadn't intended for any of this to happen, least of all for Draco to be hurt. And he was clearly hurt. Harry had been learning to read his body language over the past couple of months and could see the hurt in the stiff way he held his spine perfectly straight or the way his eyes would sometimes flicker away from Harry's to avoid meeting his gaze. "Draco, I was going to ask you if that would be all right, I swear it." He cursed himself again for missing his chance to have somewhat headed off this confrontation.

"I'm not your jailer, Potter," Malfoy scoffed. "Come and go as you please, what difference is it to me?" His voice was icy and Harry felt chilled by it.

"I hardly feel imprisoned by you, Draco," Harry countered softly. Maybe speaking at the right pitch would help soothe the Slytherin, like he had seen Hagrid do with wild animals.

That theory was shattered as the cold apathy of the blond vanished to be replaced with anger. "Well, then there's nothing stopping you from saying _yes_ to Wood, is there?" Draco's eyes flashed and his face reddened and Harry felt a spark of panic in his chest.

Damn it, he needed to explain what happened and he needed to explain it correctly. Harry's mouth needed to open and spill the right words, truthful words that Draco would believe. He needed Draco to believe him.

Maybe he should just push the blond up against the wall and kiss any doubts he had away. That was definitely an appealing solution. An angry Draco was beautiful.

Harry knew it was an inappropriate time to be thinking about Malfoy like that, but he couldn't help it. The Slytherin was standing tall and straight; his eyes were dark and flashing and his face was a delicate pink. He was panting and clenching his fists tightly as if trying to regain control over himself; his hair had fallen into his eyes and Harry longed to run his fingers through it, muss it further.

He had been staring, silent, for too long. Draco seemed to shrink in on himself with hurt for a moment before straightening like a lash. "Whatever then," he snapped and spun on his heel to leave, but Harry couldn't allow him to. Not like that. Not ever. He acted without thought, quickly grabbing the blond's upper arm and spinning him back around, all while moving them a step backward to slam Draco up against the stone wall of the narrow corridor.

Malfoy stared at him in surprise for a second before beginning to struggle. "Get the fuck off me, Potter!" he shouted. Harry tightened his hold and pressed his body tightly against the one thrashing in his grip, using his weight to hold the flailing boy secure.

"Listen to me, Draco!" he requested, holding tightly to the other boy until he stilled. It took longer than Harry had thought it would and he was even more grateful for the massage the night before; his shoulder no longer hurt at all and he was able to hold Draco much more securely.

Eventually, Malfoy slowed his struggles, panting slightly and glaring at Harry. "Fuck you," he said quietly, his voice angry and tight.

Harry didn't want to think about those hurtful words directed at him from those perfect lips, so he did the only thing he could think of and leaned forward to capture that angry mouth in a kiss. For a few seconds, Draco struggled even harder, twisting and squirming in a desperate attempt to get free. Once Harry made it clear that escape was not an option, however, the Slytherin changed tack. He began to kiss Harry roughly, punishingly, attacking Harry's mouth with a ferocity that left the Gryffindor breathless. Draco's hands twisted painfully in Harry's hair and he dug his fingernails into Harry's scalp.

"Fuck you," the blond broke off just long enough to bite out before continuing the kissing onslaught. He bit Harry's bottom lip harshly, sucking on it and shoving his tongue roughly into Harry's mouth again and again. Harry responded less aggressively, attempting to calm him through tender patience, lifting his hands to cup Draco's face gently, a marked contrast to the violent frenzy of the kiss. He stroked Draco's jaw lovingly and softened his lips, gentling the fury of the kiss until he felt Draco shudder and his body relaxed a fraction. Harry pressed him into the wall and kissed him until they were both breathless and lightheaded. He pulled back to stare at Draco, who looked almost dazed but was quickly regaining the hard glint in his eye.

"Draco, I promise you, _nothing_ happened." He looked him right in the eye, knowing how well Malfoy could read him and willing him to do so yet again. "I am NOT interested in Oliver Wood!" Harry decided it would be better to never reveal to the blond that he had, in fact, once been _very_ interested in Oliver Wood, but those days were long past and it would do no one any good for Draco to know about it.

"You promise?" Draco asked doubtfully and it made Harry's heart clench painfully to hear how tiny and fragile Malfoy's voice sounded. He would do anything to banish every insecurity from the blond's mind.

"I _promise,_ love. I completely absolutely promise. I would never do that, never to you. I love you." Harry pleaded with his eyes for Malfoy to believe him.

"I—I love you, too," Draco confessed cautiously, hesitating heart-stoppingly before the word _love,_ but he said it. Harry leaned in for a kiss but Draco turned his head. "I love you, and I trust you," he started but waited until Harry had stopped kissing his chin and paid attention. "I do NOT, however, trust him and I do NOT want you around him."

The kisses immediately stilled as Harry pulled back to look at the other boy in surprise. "But…but I can't just tell him I can never see him again. He's my friend. We've been friends for _years."_

Draco shrugged. "I would have been perfectly content to allow the _friendship_ to continue, but he clearly has more than friendship on his mind in regards to you, Harry, and I do not feel comfortable with the thought of you being near him."

Harry could only gape. "What do you mean _clearly has more than friendship on his mind_? What is that supposed to mean? It's _Oliver,_ Draco."

Malfoy's mouth thinned. "I do have fucking eyes, you know. I saw the two of you yesterday, the way he _hugged_ you and the way the two of you were _whispering_ and laughing together and I saw you _blush,_ even, so don't give me any of this _what does it mean_ shit, Potter." He glared at Harry as if daring him to argue with any of the untrue accusations.

They were untrue, weren't they? Harry remembered Oliver's hug, which maybe had lasted an unusual length of time; he remembered joking and laughing together as _friends_ do, but had he blushed? Oliver _had_ said more than one thing that had brought heat to Harry's face yesterday. Maybe Draco had a point. Oliver didn't have _feelings_ for Harry, though, did he? Surely Malfoy was imagining things out of jealousy. Wood was a professional Quidditch player now; he was handsome and had money and could date anyone he wanted. And why would someone like that want Harry? Harry was far too thin and uninteresting; he was also still in school. Surely Oliver would want to date someone his own age?

But the four-year gap between them didn't seem nearly so wide anymore, not like it had when an eleven-year-old Harry had first met a fifteen-year-old Oliver.

Harry shook himself back into the moment; he had to get Draco to believe him. "Nothing happened. Nothing is going to happen," he vowed in a low voice. "Even if Oliver does want more than friendship, I don't. I don't want anyone but you, Draco. Ever. I love you and we're going to be together so I'm sorry because I'm never leaving. I'll never feel even close to what I feel for you for anyone else. Nobody else matters but you. You're the only person I notice."

Draco's breath hitched and Harry wondered if he might cry, but his eyes were dry and his limbs steady as he hugged Harry tightly. "I never thought I would hear you say something like that." He sounded awed, almost as if he was only a second away from pinching himself to make sure he was really awake. "I never imagined you to be such a hopeless romantic," he teased, causing Harry to huff, "Only with you" sheepishly.

Draco pulled back and took Harry's face between his palms, looking him in the eye with a very serious expression. "I do love you and I trust you and I don't want us to be in one of those suffocating relationships where I'm always asking you where you've been and what you've been doing and you feel so smothered by me that you avoid my presence and the questions and come home late at night smelling of alcohol and other men." Harry's eyes widened. If he hadn't known Draco so well he would have accused the pureblood of watching Muggle soap operas. "I don't mean to act crazy or irrational," he ducked his head and refused to meet Harry's eye, "but sometimes I have trouble believing that this isn't just all one big colossal joke and you'll inform me one day that you never meant any of it and leave me broken and pining."

Broken and pining? Harry almost couldn't believe his ears. Had Draco Malfoy really just admitted to how much power Harry had over him? Had he really just admitted that Harry was capable of _shattering_ him? Without a doubt, he knew that Draco had never confessed anything as vulnerable as that to anybody else before and felt a possessive twinge of pleasure at the fact.

"So if you want," the Slytherin continued, "to recapture whatever short-lived pleasantries from your childhood you can, I suppose you have my okay to coach the younger Wood." His eyes narrowed. "But know that if _Oliver,"_ he sneered the name "does end up making any sort of move on you, I will not be held responsible for whatever Dark magic my rage-addled mind chooses to unleash on the bastard."

Harry nodded and kissed between Draco's eyes. "I understand."

Draco made a move to untangle his limbs from Harry's, but Harry tightened his hold and whispered, "Thanks for trusting me," into his ear before stepping back and offering Draco his hand to lead them both from the dungeons. They had just reached the ground floor when they were approached by a flustered-looking Finlay.

"Harry?" he squeaked and coughed. "Erm, will we be seeing you later? My brother hasn't said anything about whether or not you'll be there..." Harry didn't respond, attempting to come to a quick decision. Should he agree to join them? Draco said that he trusted him and had even given Harry permission to go. But was it real permission or was this some sort of Slytherin test? When it came to Slytherin, nobody seemed to embody the House traits more than Draco Malfoy. Harry fully expected the blond to test him in various ways, but was this one of those times?

"Please, Harry?" Finlay pleaded. "The other team has already heard that I've been training with _Harry Potter_ and I know that makes them nervous and my teammates have been asking me all these questions and wanting me to show them moves and the game is _tomorrow_ and my brother and I really like hanging out with you and you're absolutely brilliant on a broomstick," he finished in a rush. Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry.

"Er, when are you two heading out?" Harry asked, stalling for time. A very loud part of himself really did want to go; Finlay clearly appreciated the help and was obviously nervous for his first game. But he didn't want Malfoy to think this was solely about Oliver Wood and that Harry was ditching him to spend time with another man.

"Oh, whenever Ollie gets here," Finlay answered hopefully. "He should be on his way. I was just on my way to the Entrance Hall to wait for him."

"Well, erm, why don't you go wait for him?" Harry suggested. "And I'll be down later, yeah?" Finlay beamed and nodded, tripping and stumbling over his own feet as he bounced away.

"Merlin's fucking beard, Potter, is there _anybody_ who isn't dying to shag you?" Malfoy asked grumpily, making Harry blush. With Oliver, he secretly thought Draco was over-imagining things, but with Finlay, it was clear that Oliver had not been joking about the crush the younger Wood had on Harry.

"You can't honestly be jealous of a _fourteen-year-old_ , can you?" Could he? He didn't seriously think that Harry wanted the Hufflepuff boy, did he?

"If I recall correctly, he is the exact same age as Hermione was when she was courted by an eighteen-year-old Viktor Krum," the blond sniffed patronizingly.

"Yes," Harry agreed, "only she wasn't mad for _you_ at the time, was she?"

Draco's lips twitched. "I imagine her feelings towards me at the time were quite different."

"Oh they definitely were," Harry laughed then quickly sobered. "I promise I won't go if you don't want me to, Draco." Malfoy looked torn and opened his mouth to respond, but Harry continued before he could. "I also promise that nothing is going to happen. Not with Oliver, not with Finlay, not with Ginny. I love you and I would never hurt you like that."

Draco closed his mouth and looked away. "Very well, then, Harry," he sighed. "I trust you and I know that you want to go, so go ahead."

Harry glanced around quickly before enfolding the blond in a hug then pulling back to look at him warily. "This isn't a test, is it? Some sort of Slytherin-mind-test that you'll make me suffer later for failing, right?"

"No, it's not a test, you prat," Draco snorted softly.

Harry nodded and kissed Draco cheerfully for a few seconds before striding away, calling "I'll come find you after we're done, yeah?" back over his shoulder at the blond.

By the time he got down to the pitch, Harry was in a much better mood. Oliver and Finlay were swooping above his head tossing a Quaffle to each other.

"Harry!" Oliver called, plummeting sharply to hover at Harry's eye line. "I brought something for you," he grinned and pointed to a lone broomstick lying a short distance away, hovering horizontally a foot off the ground.

Frowning, Harry walked over to peer at it curiously and could immediately tell with just one glance that it was expensive. The handle was dark violet, nearly black, and seemed to shimmer in the light of the pink-and-orange streaked sunset. It was smooth and flawless, the design sleek and pretty and fast-looking. The word _Flash_ was inlaid into the wood in silver and Harry could tell that this broom was _wicked._ The twigs were a deep onyx and each one clipped to perfection. He reached out a slightly trembling hand and ran it over the air inches from the wood. "Oliver, what is this?" he asked in an awed voice. His Firebolt had been beautiful, but _this…_ His mouth went dry and he was embarrassed to find himself almost aroused.

Oliver grinned knowingly. "It's gorgeous, isn't it? It's a Flash, brand spanking new broom, haven't even got 'em in shops yet."

Harry just stared at him. "But then how did you _get_ one?"

"Professional Quidditch does have its perks, Harry," he chuckled. "It was more or less a present. The only problem is, I prefer my older, inferior broomstick to it." He glanced down at the broom he was currently riding. "It's a luck thing."

Harry nodded. He had a lucky pair of Quidditch socks he saved for matches and knew that Ron always played the match following a win with the same pair of Keeper's gloves.

"And you're letting me ride it?" Harry asked slowly. Wood shook his head and Harry's stomach dropped in disappointment.

"No, Harry. I'm letting you _keep_ it."

If Harry had been riding the broomstick he would have fallen off from shock. It was almost all he could do to stare in disbelief, mouth hanging open. _"What?"_ he finally choked. "What the fuck, Oliver, _why?"_ He looked at him with sudden concern. "You do feel all right, don't you? You haven't taken any recent bludgers to the head, have you?"

Oliver laughed. "No, I promise I'm fine. I've had this broom for a few weeks now and I've only ridden it twice and I already know that I won't play any matches on it, no matter how fast it is." He raked a hand through his shaggy hair good-naturedly. "So I want you to have it instead. I heard that you don't have your Firebolt anymore and I felt bad about you not having a broom and me owning such an excellent one and never using it." He took a deep breath. "I figured at least with you, it gets flown. Besides," he pointed to the side of the handle opposite the shocked Gryffindor and Harry followed his finger all the way to the very top, "it's already yours." There on the handle, on the side opposite the word _Flash_ and in the same neat silver lettering, was Harry's name.

"You fucking _personalized_ it?" Harry mouthed incredulously. Why would Oliver do that?

Wood smiled and nodded. "I knew how stubborn you would be about it so I went ahead and made it impossible for you to refuse."

Harry could only stare. "I...Oliver…no, no, no," he began shaking his head furiously, "no, this is just too _much,_ Oliver, it's too expensive, I can't…if you're not going to fly it, it should go to your brother or someone."

Oliver drifted closer. "Just try it out first, yeah? Before you decide," he persuaded. "Besides, Finlay is a good flyer, but," he lowered his voice to a stage whisper, "he can't handle a broomstick like this." Harry bit his lip. He knew that he couldn't accept this gift; not from Oliver. They were friends and Harry had once admired him, but they had never been close enough to warrant a present of this magnitude. He also felt rather uneasy about accepting it after the earlier fight with Draco. If the blond saw the broomstick and learned who had gifted it…Harry did not want to imagine his reaction.

"Okay, it's fine, Harry, I get it," Wood's voice cut into his thoughts. "You don't have to accept it. But at least _fly_ it. I wasn't kidding when I told you that this thing has only ever been flown twice." Harry shook his head at the ground. That was just _criminal_ with a broomstick that beautiful.

"All right," he gave in and swung a leg over the handle, which seemed to almost vibrate with excitement at the prospect of finally being flown. Kicking off hard and grateful that the rain had stopped, he shot upwards in a dizzying rush like a cork popped from a bottle of champagne. The broomstick hummed and he grinned, leaning low over the handle and shooting across the castle grounds. There was a tingle in his gut and he could feel every finger of wind clawing at his hair and tearing fiercely at his clothing; it felt like he had left his stomach behind.

Smiling widely, he tipped the handle up and shot higher into the steadily darkening sky. Grasping the handle, he pulled sharply upwards, hurling straight up so quickly that it left him breathless. Adjusting his grip, he slowed his ascent to a lazy crawl and looked down to find he was barely able to make out any of the tiny smudges dotting the landscape. The largest of them was clearly the castle, but if he squinted he thought he could make out the brown smear of Hagrid's cabin and the dull gleam of the hoops.

Noticing his extreme altitude for the first time, Harry was suddenly struck him with the urge to test the absolute limits of this broomstick; if he couldn't accept it, then he could at least try it out, right? Flattening himself over the handle, he launched himself across the sky like a Muggle rocket. Once he had shot past the castle he forced the broom into a sharp veer and angled toward the forest to skim low and swift over the tops of the trees. His heart was hammering a dent into his chest; his mouth was dry and his eyes stung and his hands were freezing, but he felt _wonderful._ He felt free and light; like he could just keep flying forever and as long as he did, everything would be fine. It would always be exhilarating and he would always feel this alive and he could remind himself that he was actually good at something other than leading loved one's to their deaths or offering himself up as a sacrifice.

Adrenaline pounded through his body and urged him to fly faster, turn sharper, feel what it was like to be reckless again. God, he had missed this: taking dangerous, unnecessary risks; hurtling through the air at breakneck speeds, knowing that a sudden gust of wind could send him veering fatally off course. He missed making split-second decisions that he hadn't thought through at all; flipping through the air with his broom, spinning and rolling and trying in vain to catch his breath but never once slowing. His muscles ached and his lungs felt raw but he was feeling far too much to try and stop.

It wasn't until he had completed a particularly complicated and risky spin-dive that he glanced up and noticed that both Oliver and Finlay had landed and were talking to someone—someone whose platinum hair was visible even from that distance. Harry shot to the ground quickly, the speed of the broom making it almost seem as if he had Apparated at their side.

Draco had his arms folded and was coolly directing his words to Oliver, who stood in a similar posture with legs set in a wide stance, watching Draco quietly. "—time, yes?" the blond sneered, a muscle tightening in his jaw. He turned to face Harry as the Gryffindor swung his leg over the handle, leaving the broomstick hovering horizontally near his knee. "Harry, there you are," Malfoy greeted smoothly.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked.

The blond shrugged. "Blaise and Pansy were arguing and it was driving me mad. You mentioned you would be out here, so I came to watch." His chin rose fractionally, almost as though daring Harry to send him back to the castle. "Unless you've finished and you're ready to go?"

Harry shook his head. "We, uh, actually haven't started. I mean, they have, I haven't. I really haven't helped at all yet. I got a bit distracted flying," he explained awkwardly, berating himself. He had come out here for a reason; he was supposed to be helping Finlay.

"Yes, I saw," Malfoy's tone had softened and he was eyeing Harry fondly, almost protectively. Oliver was staring at the two of them and Harry knew that Malfoy's expression had not gone unnoticed. "What is it that you're flying, by the way?" Damn. Harry hadn't wanted to draw attention to the broomstick but was now left with no choice but to present it to the Slytherin, whose eyes widened. "A _Flash?_ Harry, this is a fucking _Flash."_ His tone was accusing, making it sound as if Harry had been trying to convince him that it was a different type of broomstick. "What are you doing with a goddamn fucking Flash?"

"Keeping it," Oliver answered simply.

Malfoy turned his gaze sharply to Wood. "What?" The single word was cold and flat.

"Er, Oliver offered to give it to me," Harry started uneasily, fidgeting slightly under Malfoy's gaze. "It was a present to him and he never flies it, so he thought I might want it since I don't have my Firebolt anymore, but I told him I couldn't possibly accept it, so he'll be the one keeping it, really."

Malfoy said nothing, but Oliver's voice spoke up. "Bollocks, Harry. I told you: I don't use it. I don't even want it. I know its ruddy expensive, but I could afford a dozen Flashes with the discounts I get at Quidditch stores. I don't need the money and I don't want the broom."

Harry shook his head. "Really, it's fine, Oliver. I can afford my own broomstick, trust me."

Oliver laughed lightly. "I can't imagine the Chosen One having to pay for a broomstick. What about the Boy-Who-Saved-All-Of-Our-Arses-From-You-Know-Who discount?"

"Well, even without the discount, I can afford a decent broomstick." Harry's lips twitched ruefully. It had embarrassed him at first, but he had gotten used to being told not to worry about the bill when attempting to make purchases. At first he had stubbornly fought their refusals to take his money, but in the end, it was so much easier to just give in and it really did seem to make strangers happy, like they thought they were required to perform whatever service they could for the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Why bother looking for a decent broomstick when there's a top-of-the-line absolute beauty with _your_ name on it right in front of you?" Oliver countered, gesturing toward the handle with his chin.

Harry wasn't sure what to do. He did not want to keep refusing, because judging by the determined gleam in the other man's eye and Harry's remembrance of his fierce resolve, Oliver was not about to just let this go. But he hated the thought of accepting the ostentatious gift right in front of Draco. He knew that not too long ago, Draco would have been able to afford this broomstick. He had probably had a whole shed full of racing brooms and would have been the first one in the school to own this particular model and would have then delighted in rubbing Harry's face in that fact. Now, though, he didn't own a single broomstick. Most of his belongings had been sold and Harry could only guess how hard that must have been to the boy who had grown up in such privileged extravagance.

"You should take it, Harry," Draco interrupted suddenly. "Since you no longer have one, you should take it. The Savior of the Wizarding World deserves only the best, correct? You couldn't possibly settle for a lesser broomstick." Harry stared at him, wondering if this was the Slytherin test he knew he needed to look out for. Should he continue refusing? Or was Malfoy genuine about accepting?

"See, Harry?" Oliver's tone was nudging. "Malfoy here agrees." His voice was odd, but Harry couldn't guess at the emotions behind it. "Besides, it already has your name on it."

"Does it?" Malfoy's words were icy and Harry felt hot guilt splash into his stomach as he wordlessly turned the handle to show Draco the silver lettering of his own name. The blond glared at the inscription for a moment before smoothing his face once again into an unreadable blank mask. Harry almost flinched at how quickly Malfoy was able to wipe every emotion from his face—from anger to _nothing_ in less than a second. "Well, you must accept it then. I mean, you can hardly refuse now that it has your name on it, can you, Potter?"

"Erm, I…I dunno…" Glancing up at the darkening sky above them, Harry tried to find some way out of the mess he seemed to have somehow landed himself in. How had he been forced into this situation? Why did he always feel backed into a corner? How did he always end up like this in the fucking corner? Why was everybody always insisting on trapping him there? How was any of this his fault? He never asked for his name to be engraved on the handle; he had never asked for the fucking thing in the first place. Everyone wanted him to take the damn broomstick so much? Fine. He would accept the goddamn fucking broomstick and if Draco was going to be upset about it, then Harry could at least point out that he had tried to refuse several times. And if Oliver wanted to stupidly give his insanely expensive broomstick away for free, then who the fuck was Harry to try and argue with him? Apparently, nobody listened to what he had to say anyway, right?

Both Malfoy and Wood opened their mouths to speak and Harry was certain that it was to insist, yet again, that Harry accept the stupid broomstick, which he was frankly beginning to resent. "Fine," he accepted brusquely. "Thank you, Oliver."

The other three all looked rather startled at Harry's clipped, irate tone, but a small smile spread across Oliver's face as he nodded. "Sure, Harry. Anything."

"Well, if the three of you will excuse me, I'm going to take my brand-new broomstick and put it away." He turned sharply and stalked off, flustered and upset and not quite sure exactly _why_ he was so furious. He wasn't even sure if he was angry at Oliver and Draco themselves or more at the situation in general.

Striding swiftly without looking back, he soon reached the castle, quickening his pace as he heard a single set of footsteps echoing along the stone behind him. Footsteps he recognized, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to talk to the owner at the moment. The past two days had just been so _much;_ so much had happened and changed within Harry; things had been so tense and disquieted between him and Malfoy and he couldn't handle another argument right now, he really couldn't. He felt angry and strained and he knew that what he was about to do was not polite; it was not courteous or the brave Gryffindor way of handling things, but right now his head pounded and he just wanted to lie down and stop thinking.

Straddling the broomstick, he kicked off hard against the stone floor of the corridor, flying through the hallways at breakneck speed and ignoring the echoed call of his name that was quickly swallowed up by the distance. He threw himself through the portrait hole and into his bedroom before callously dropping the stupid broomstick on the floor, glaring at it angrily before turning and flopping onto his bed with a quiet groan. Ron was nowhere in sight, which was fine with Harry.

He just wanted to close his eyes and lie in the quiet forever.

oOo

Ron's voice filled his ears the next morning, gradually waking him with his loud excitement, and Harry discovered to his discomfort that he had fallen asleep in both jeans and sneakers, tracking mud and grass all over the sheets. His mouth tasted terrible and his eyes hurt and his muscles fucking _screamed_ and he decided that he felt worse now than he had upon waking up in the forest after Voldemort had killed him.

"—sense, though, doesn't it? I mean, of course," Ron's voice had only gotten louder as he spotted Harry attempting to sit up. "But where the fuck did you _get_ it?" he asked eagerly. It took Harry several moments of intense blinking before he could see that Ron was holding the Flash to his chest almost reverently, his freckled visage longing as he cradled it against himself. "I've only ever seen _pictures_ of this broom," he moaned. "It's fucking _gorgeous,_ isn't it, Harry?"

Shooting the broomstick a dark glare, Harry nodded tersely.

"So where the fuck did you get it?" Ron repeated.

"Oliver Wood," Harry sighed.

"Wood?" Ron gasped. "Why would he give you _this?"_ His tone implied how stupid he clearly thought Oliver. "I mean, could you fucking _imagine_ giving a broom like this away?"

Harry shrugged. "It was free to him and he prefers his regular broom and he said he never used it, so he gave it to me." Harry paused and blushed, but felt that he needed to talk to someone about his confusion. "Draco thinks that it's because Oliver is into me." God, it sounded even more ridiculous saying it aloud than it had in Harry's head. Oliver wasn't interested in him. Right? He was just friendly and complimentary. And gave Harry insanely excellent presents. He was Harry Potter. People gifted him with odd, personal things all the time.

Over the past few months, all manner of presents had arrived for him through the post; some shocking, some disturbing, some amusing, some that he still had no idea what it was supposed to do or be, and others that were downright frightening. Among the frightening had been a life-size inflatable doll of himself with a note stating that the sender had already used the doll and was politely asking if they could please now have the real thing. Harry had quickly burnt both the note and the doll and immediately began screening his mail. The broomstick was just another one of those gifts that Harry would rather not have accepted but was, unfortunately, unable to refuse.

"Oliver Wood is _into_ you?" Ron asked dubiously. "Why would Malfoy think that? I mean, the broomstick, obviously, but people give you free shit all the time, don't they? Sounds like he never used it and preferred his regular broom, right?"

Harry nodded. Ron was right. Ron made sense.

"So was it just cos of the broom, then?" he prompted.

Harry shook his head and shrugged. "He…well, I mean he hugged me. It was kind of a long hug," he colored. "And, erm, I suppose he's made a couple of comments and sort of _looked_ at me sort of often, but I mean, that's not a big deal, yeah?"

Ron nodded slowly, but he looked less convinced now. "What sort of comments?" he wondered and Harry ducked his head.

"Er, well, he started asking about me and Gin, and then he said something about everybody lusting after me." That had probably just been an innocent comment, right? It seemed innocent enough; Oliver clearly wasn't lumping himself in with the 'everybody' that was supposedly lusting after Harry. Right?

Ron just stared at him. "I dunno, Harry, it sounds like Malfoy might have a point," he spoke carefully. Harry shrugged helplessly. Why was everything always so complicated? "What did he do when he found out about the broom?" Ron continued.

Harry cringed slightly. "Erm, well, he was there when I accepted it."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "Mate, you accepted a crazy expensive gift like this from another bloke right in front of your boyfriend?" Ron shook his head. "Where's Hermione and her lectures on tact when you need 'em?"

"I didn't have a choice!" Harry snapped defensively. "I told Oliver no about a billion times and then Malfoy showed up and I told them both a billion more times that I would not accept that broomstick, but then they both just kept insisting and it fucking has my name on it so I took the broom and I left and Draco followed me and I fucking flew away from him and now it's morning and I'm here talking to you about my _boyfriend_ troubles and all I know is that I can't stand one more fight with Draco over Oliver fucking Wood!" He paused, breathing hard. "I'm not sure where Draco and I stand right now, especially after the fight we had and the way I left him and I'm really not sure how upset with me he is and I'm sort of afraid to find out because I love him and I don't want him angry with me but he's just being so fucking _stupid_ because he has _nothing_ to fucking worry about because I'm not interested in Oliver fucking Wood anymore!" Harry was on his feet, panting and nearly shouting by the time he finished speaking.

Ron was staring at him with his mouth hanging slightly open. "All right," he said quickly. "It's all right, Harry." His tone was soothing and Harry calmed enough to sink back into a sitting position on the bed.

"I just—," Harry covered his eyes with one hand and ran his other through his hair roughly. "I don't want anyone else, you know? Just him. And he says that he trusts me, but he keeps getting so angry and then he refuses to listen and last night he just _showed up_ like that even after he told me that he trusted me and I had his permission to go." He turned tortured eyes to Ron. "I don't know what to do. Draco says that Oliver's coming onto me, but I just don't see it, and I know that Draco doesn't want me to be around him, but I've known him for _years,_ Ron."

Ron nodded. "It's fucked, mate," he agreed. "You need to talk to Malfoy, though. Especially after the way you left him last night. You two have some shit to sort through." Harry huffed an agreement. "You also need to make it clear to Oliver that the two of you will only ever be friends, because he really may not be interested in you, Harry, but from what you've told me, it sounds like he is."

Harry groaned.

"But you _did_ have feelings for Oliver, then?" Ron asked curiously and Harry groaned again.

"Yes, maybe. I mean, I don't really know, you know? It was before I knew I was into blokes as well, so maybe it was more that I just really admired him? Although I do remember feeling a bit like I'd been punched in the stomach when he would touch me to show me a new Quidditch move, so maybe I really did have feelings for him." Harry dropped his head back into his hands. "Don't you dare tell Draco any of that," he said suddenly, lifting his head and fixing Ron with a glare.

"Course not," Ron waved him off. "Well, are we going down to the match, then?"

Harry shrugged. He wasn't sure at all if he wanted to go to the game anymore, but he had promised both Oliver and Finlay that he would be there. At the time, he had been counting on Draco attending with him, though and felt a pang at the thought of the blond. How furious was Malfoy? First Harry had gotten angry and just _left,_ and then he had flown off to escape the Slytherin without a word. Fuck, the blond was most likely _livid._ And Harry deserved it. He had kept things from Draco and hurt him as a result, even if Harry really had been intending the whole time to talk to his boyfriend about coaching the Hufflepuff. He hadn't lied, but he hadn't been completely honest, either. He knew that Draco struggled with the feeling that Harry was going to disappear one day; that he was in Malfoy's life temporarily, just until he grew bored of the Slytherin or looked at his arm and remembered the tattoo staining it. But how could Harry convince him _more_ that he was deadly serious about the other boy?

 _Time, only,_ _I suppose,_ Harry mused ruefully. Neither of them would ever be described as patient.

 _Well, everything in order_ , he decided as he stood and headed for the shower. First, he would shower. Then he would get dressed. Then they would go down to the Great Hall for breakfast and hopefully Draco would be there and hopefully, he would be willing to listen to Harry. Then hopefully they would go down to the pitch together and watch the game and hopefully, Harry would still be able to hold Malfoy's hand in the back row of the stands.

The first three items on his list all passed smoothly and it wasn't until item number four that Harry encountered his first snag. Draco was nowhere in the Great Hall and Harry had not grabbed the Map as he had been rushed from the room by Ron, who now sat next to him shoveling toast and eggs into his mouth around sips of orange juice and his predictions for the match.

Harry picked at his food and barely listened. Where was Draco? Was he planning on skipping both breakfast _and_ the match? Harry knew that Malfoy cared almost nothing about the House Cup and that the war had robbed him, too, of his interest in the sport. The only thing he had shown any recent sign of interest in was Harry. Was that over now? Had Draco decided that maybe Harry wasn't worth the bother after all? Were his feelings for the Gryffindor now steeped more in anger than love? Had Harry fucked up the only thing that had given him such peace and happiness? Was Draco even planning on telling Harry that it was over? Or was their relationship going to burn out as quickly as it had begun? Would it just dissolve into nothing?

Harry felt panic rising within him at the thought. It couldn't just disappear into _nothing._ It had never been just _nothing_ between them. There had always been _something_ and if Harry lost that _something,_ then he honestly was not sure what he would do. He needed to find Draco and talk to him _now._

His mouth tightened and he pushed back from the table to stand. He would find his Slytherin and could only pray that the blond was willing to listen. Jaw clenched with determination, Harry strode quickly and had just reached the doors to the Great Hall when they were flung wide as Seamus poked his head inside.

"Oi! Ronald!" he bellowed loudly, making Harry wince. The Great Hall wasn't _that_ big.

"What?" Ron called back noisily, making the two sound as if they were yelling from opposite ends of the Quidditch pitch.

"Hurry the fuck up, would you?" Seamus demanded. "The game's about to start and everybody's already out there!" Harry glanced around the Great Hall and noticed for the first time how empty it was. "Even the fucking Slytherins have shown up!" That got Harry's attention.

"The Slytherins?" he tried to ask casually. "All of them?"

Seamus nodded and chuckled. "Parkinson got in a fight with some Slytherin third year right as I was heading back here; I thought she was going to hex the boy. But Malfoy and Zabini stopped her before she could."

At the words, Harry's heart started to pound. Malfoy? Malfoy was there? Had Zabini convinced him to go or was he there looking for Harry? And more importantly, if he was _there,_ then what the fuck was Harry still doing _here?_

Without a word, he darted around Seamus, who bellowed at Ron to hurry one final time before jogging to catch up with the brunet. They walked together quickly but paused for a moment when they turned to see Ron sprinting towards them.

"Honestly, just give a bloke a minute to finish eating," he grumbled breathlessly.

By the time they made it down to the pitch the game had already started and Ravenclaw was in the lead with ten points, causing both Ron and Seamus to gripe and swear loudly about missing kick off. The other two Gryffindors rushed him up to a stand and Harry found himself seated between Neville and Luna before he had time to begin scanning the crowd.

Locating the Slytherins was easy enough; they were the smallest and quietest section of the stands. The entire House had been much more subdued this year; they no longer strutted around acting superior, instead finding themselves the victims of slurs and cruel pranks much more often than in the past. Harry had seen it and had tried to put a stop to it, but the war had altered some people's minds to forever connect _Death Eaters_ and _Slytherins._ With the war and grief still so fresh on many people's thoughts, there was a lot of hate still being directed toward the House of Salazar.

The one Slytherin he cared about, however, was nowhere to be seen.

The game was being played, Harry knew it was. He could hear the commentary and the gasps and screams of the crowd, as well as the crunch of Beaters bats and Madam Hooch's occasional shrill whistle. But he couldn't focus on anything other than scanning the Slytherin side of the stands _again,_ despite how glaringly obvious it was that Draco's nearly white hair was not in attendance. Where was he? Seamus had said he was there, hadn't he?

"Seamus," Harry called, leaning forward and tapping the Irishman on the shoulder.

"What, Harry?" Seamus shouted without looking over his shoulder.

"I thought you said that Malfoy, Zabini, and Parkinson were here."

"Yeah, they are," Seamus swore and ducked sympathetically as a Ravenclaw Chaser took a bludger to the chest. His eyes flicked from the game to the stands and he frowned. "Well, they were." The frown suddenly vanished to be replaced with a bright smile as he turned to face Harry. "Maybe Parkinson really did hex that third year and they all got expelled."

Harry stared at Seamus with a cold expression until his grin faded and he quickly turned back around.

With a sigh, Harry sat back. Malfoy was no longer there. Maybe, Harry hoped cautiously, he had come to the game to look for Harry and had soon left upon not finding him. The thought made him want to sprint back up to the castle and begin checking every classroom and broom cupboard for the blond, but he was wedged tightly between his friends in a sea of students at the top of one of the highest stands and knew that escape would not come easily and maybe he should keep his promise to Finlay and cheer the boy on.

However, the longer the game continued the more frustrated he grew. It was impossible to focus on the match and instead decided to use the time to plan what he would say to Malfoy, assuming he would ever be able to track him down. Many different scenarios played out in Harry's mind of what would happen when they were finally face-to-face. In some of them they made up, others they parted shouting and hating each other; there were several in which Malfoy refused to listen and broke up with Harry the instant he saw him, and in one particularly horrible one Malfoy screamed that he had never loved Harry and he never wanted to see him again.

At the thought of never seeing Draco again, Harry's palms broke out in a sweat and he was just starting to panic when the whistle sounded and the game was over—Hufflepuff had won 160-40. Harry pretended to cheer as the yellow team took a victory lap and the Ravenclaws slunk off to their changing room.

Desperate to get back to the castle, Harry could only tap his foot against the wood of the stand impatiently as he waited for everybody around him to begin exiting the stands. The crowd began to gradually clear and Harry had almost made it to the stairs when a hand fell heavily on his shoulder, startling him and forcing him to a halt. "Harry," Oliver Wood's voice drifted over him as his firm grip pulled Harry off to the side of the stands, away from the line of people still waiting to descend.

"Oliver," Harry ran a hand through his hair. He supposed that yes, he also needed to talk to Wood as well as Malfoy. "Look, about last night…" Was there a way he could apologize and still return the broomstick? "I'm really sorry for how I acted, I know I was a git…" He knew that he had behaved badly, but was also still annoyed at the way Oliver had practically forced him into accepting the gift.

"It's not your fault, Harry," Wood waved his apology away and steered the younger man back into a corner of the benches to sit side-by-side. "I know that I basically shoved the broomstick down your throat and made you take it."

Harry grinned and shrugged in agreement. "Maybe a bit," he allowed. He opened his mouth to suggest that Oliver rethink his insanity and take back the broom, but Wood spoke up before he could.

"No, Harry," he chuckled as he studied Harry's face closely, "I don't want it back." Damn. How had he known that's what Harry was going to say? "I'm really glad you came to the match," Oliver continued. Did he never blink? Harry felt as if the man had been staring at him for far too long without shifting his gaze.

"Erm, well, I promised," Harry reminded him uncomfortably.

"Yeah, you did," Oliver said softly, scooting closer until their knees were touching.

"Well, I should…" Harry gestured awkwardly toward the stairs. When had everybody else left? Oliver's fingers twitched as though he wanted to grab onto Harry and keep him from leaving.

"It's too bad the match is over, isn't it?" Oliver mused and Harry shrugged.

"Why? Your brother's team won."

"Yeah, but I won't be around anymore, that's the last game 'til February." He did sound rather upset about it.

"Well, I'm sure Finlay will miss you," Harry comforted.

"Will he be the only one, I wonder?" Oliver murmured and Harry forced a wry grin.

"I suppose I'll miss you as well, Captain, but I think I'll be ok. I mean, I've lived without your speeches for this long. And the past has taught me, if anything, that I'm a survivor."

Oliver laughed quietly and scooted even closer; Harry was trapped between the man and the wooden wall of the stand. "I can always come back to give you a private speech," he promised in a low voice and Harry felt his brow prick with nerves before Oliver's face turned pensive. "Would you miss my speeches or me more?" Harry felt a chill and a light sweat beginning to build on the back of his neck and he tried to avoid answering the question.

"Er, well, your speeches sort of _are_ you, Oliver," he half-joked. When had Wood's hand found the top of his own slightly damp one? They both now rested on his thigh, Oliver's fingers draped over the back of Harry's hand to just lightly brush Harry's jeans. How had he gotten into this situation? He felt a surge of apology toward Draco for not having believed him earlier.

Wood's face was suddenly much closer and Harry felt frozen where he sat, hardly even breathing. Oliver seemed to take his shock as shy nerves because the next thing Harry knew, the man had bent forward and his lips were pressed gently to Harry's own. Harry didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't kiss him back. His brain was screaming at him to pull back, run away, find Draco, but his back was pressed firmly against the wall behind him and Oliver's arms were on either side of his body, caging him in as the larger man leaned his weight more fully into him.

"Harry," Oliver pulled back just enough to murmur before kissing him again.

Harry felt a wild sort of hysteria beginning to build in the pit of his stomach. He wrenched his mouth away and struggled for a moment before Oliver realized that Harry was not finally responding to his affections but was instead attempting to stand. His arms dropped and Harry instantly shot to his feet and began backing away, his wide eyes never leaving Oliver's, the two men staring at each other for long seconds before Harry mumbled a quick, "I have to go," and, blaming his Slytherin half, turned and ran.

It wasn't until Harry reached the bottom of the wooden steps and began hurriedly striding back to the school that he noticed the figure ahead of him, legs pumping furiously in a dead run toward the castle; but even from this distance, it was a figure that Harry would recognize anywhere. Sudden dread seized his heart, stealing the air from his lungs and causing him to stumble and nearly trip. Gritting his teeth, he shook off the numb horror creeping through his limbs and threatening to freeze him in place, forcing his rubbery legs into action as he hurried to catch up to the boy already much too far ahead of him—a tall, thin boy with gleaming silvery-blond hair.

Draco Malfoy had just seen everything.


	6. Chapter 6

"Draco!" Harry called desperately, sprinting even faster and cursing the wind for swallowing his plea before it could reach Malfoy's ears.

 _Fuck!_ Fuck, how had this happened? How had every intention of Harry's over the past few days inevitably turned into such horrendous fuck-ups? How had he allowed Oliver to kiss him and why in the name of Merlin did Draco have to see it? He hadn't kissed Wood back, but he hadn't shoved him away immediately either. It had almost been like he hadn't believed what was happening for a few moments; Oliver had kissed him and he had gone into shock.

But he hadn't lied to Draco about his feelings; he loved the blond and he had no interest in Oliver Wood. All he wanted was Draco and Harry was terrified that Malfoy would not allow Harry the chance to tell him that.

The weathered path leading back to the school began sloping gently and soon had Harry gasping for breath, his lungs burning as he continued to race after Malfoy, refusing to allow himself to slow. Draco dashed into the castle ahead of him and Harry put on an extra burst of speed before wrenching open the door, but by the time he entered the building, Malfoy was nowhere in sight.

Panting, Harry slowed and looked around. _Fuck._ He could be almost anywhere in the castle by now; Draco knew all of Harry's shortcuts just as well as the brunet did by this point. Taking a deep breath, he began jogging up to the dorm to fetch the Map. Fuck, he was tired of running already. Between no longer actively playing Quidditch or chasing down the forces of evil, he had allowed himself to get out of shape and instantly vowed to work out more.

By the time he got up to his dorm, he was exhausted and extremely winded and had to lean against the door for several minutes before he was able to turn the knob and enter. Ron and Hermione were sitting together on Ron's bed, smiling and talking quietly. They both jumped at Harry's entrance before sitting up and peering at him closely.

"Harry?" Hermione asked with concern. "What's happened?"

He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak without breaking down. It was all just so fucked.

"Harry, mate, what's wrong?" It was Ron's turn to ask and it was the genuine worry and care in his voice that made Harry open his mouth and spill his confession. He told them everything—almost every detail of the past few days—and by the time he reached the part about Malfoy having seen the kiss and run away, angry tears were rolling down his cheeks and he was scrubbing roughly at his face with his hands. He felt laughter bubble up his throat hysterically and nearly spill out at the memory of sitting in Potions not too long ago attempting to once again recall the feeling of anger.

Well, he was angry, all right. He was angry at Oliver for having made a move on him and he was angry at Draco for having foreseen that and been correct, but mostly he was angry at himself for having allowed things to progress to that.

Ron and Hermione listened quietly, speaking only during the sometimes long pauses that Harry would take. When he had finally thrown himself down on his bed and finished speaking, Hermione came to sit beside Harry on his mattress. "Harry," she began as she smoothed the hair away from his face and stroked his head. "It's okay. It's going to be okay. Draco will understand."

Harry shook his head and felt his glasses dig sharply into his face from where they were pressed between his nose and the mattress. He ripped them off and flung them over his shoulder before burying his face back in the sheets. "No," his voice was muffled and squashed sounding. "No, Hermione, he won't. I told him that he had _nothing_ to worry about from Oliver Wood and that he could trust me and then he sees us kissing and that is _not_ something that he is going to just forgive." Had he lost the blond forever? Did witnessing Harry shatter Draco's trust forever alter the Gryffindor in the eyes of the only person he had ever truly been in love with?

Harry felt a hot stabbing in his gut as he remembered the words Draco had confessed so trustingly to him only yesterday: " _Sometimes I have trouble believing that this isn't just all one big colossal joke and you'll inform me one day that you never meant any of it and leave me broken and pining_ ". Broken and pining. Had Harry broken Draco? He had known that he had the power to hurt Draco more than the youth had ever been hurt, and he knew by the own way he was feeling that it was worse than any curse that any maniacal tyrant could hurl at him. Draco had survived everything only to be shattered by Harry; where Voldemort had failed to destroy him, Harry had succeeded.

He sat up slowly and took a few seconds to wipe his face dry before turning to Hermione. "What do I do?" he asked her.

"Talk to him," she responded simply.

"But what do I say?" How did he fix this? What words existed that would right everything that had become so horribly skewed? How did he get his boyfriend and his happiness back?

"Just tell him the truth, Harry," Hermione suggested.

"He's not going to listen!" Harry argued.

"Then make him," she said calmly.

Harry snorted. Make him. Right. When had Draco Malfoy ever done anything he hadn't wanted to? Other than when his family was being threatened by a snake-faced psycho, of course. But would the truth work? Would Draco still be able to read Harry's every intention and emotion on his face, as he had become so frighteningly good at? And more importantly, did Harry even deserve the chance to explain things? Did he no longer deserve Draco? Harry had once told the blond that he was his good karma; was that still true? Had the universe looked at Harry and found him wanting and decided that tearing Draco from him would balance some cosmic scale somewhere? Had Harry been deceiving himself by thinking that he would ever be able to achieve some small modicum of happiness?

Well, fuck the universe, then. And fuck anything or anybody else that dare interfere with Harry's life like that. Draco was his and the cosmos could not give him to the Gryffindor only to rip him away—Harry would not allow it.

Turning to face Hermione, he nodded in her direction with a new determination. Ron crossed the room to tap him on the shoulder and hand him the Map and his glasses, which Harry accepted with another nod before he immediately began scanning the worn parchment. Draco Malfoy's dot was in his dorm along with the dots of Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. _Fuck._ Well, if Harry had to battle past the entire House to get to Draco, he would.

Squaring his shoulders, he thanked Ron and Hermione before marching resolutely to the dungeons, all earlier exhaustion forgotten.

When he got to the Common Room entrance, however, he paused. Not having been inside the Slytherin Common Room in years, he no longer knew the password. Zabini had invited him more than once, but Harry knew that too many of the younger Slytherins felt uncomfortable in his presence and if he was being honest with himself, the last time he had been inside he had felt almost claustrophobic staring out at the green windows that opened wide to show deep within the lake. He remembered the Grindylows pulling horrible faces against the glass and how the entire room had seemed dark and frigid.

It was possible he might have been slightly biased at the time, however, he thought wryly.

And now here he was years later, standing outside desperate to gain entrance, and he began to do the only thing he could think of—which was to bang on the stone loudly, swearing and kicking at it until a second-year finally opened it wide enough to stick her head out.

"Yes?" she asked cautiously, her eyes flicking up to Harry's scar.

"Can you please tell Draco Malfoy that I would like to speak with him?" he requested politely, in complete contrast to his earlier shouting. She nodded once and ducked back inside. Harry drummed his fingers against the wall impatiently. _Please come out. Please talk to me. Please tell me that you still love me and you're willing to give me another chance_.

The stone entrance slid open and Harry's heart leapt with hope before crashing painfully back into his chest at the sight of Blaise Zabini. "Potter," he greeted coolly, looking down his nose at Harry with a contempt that he had never before seen on the dark-skinned Slytherin's handsome features, and suddenly he felt very nervous.

"Erm, hi," he ran a hand awkwardly through his hair at Zabini's stony stare. "Is Draco in there?" Harry knew exactly where Draco was; the Map was still in his pocket and he had been staring at it in frustration while he waited for Malfoy to appear. Which he guessed he would continue to wait for.

"He is," Zabini answered flatly. "But he doesn't want to see you or speak to you. He has also forbidden Pansy and me from mentioning your name or the words _Gryffindor, Quidditch,_ or _wood,_ which Pans and I still don't understand. What the fuck did you do to him, Potter?" The tall Slytherin stepped forward until he was in the corridor with Harry and the stone wall slid shut behind him. Harry avoided his eye as he tugged harshly at his hair.

"Look, I just need to talk to him, all right? Just for a minute, please," he begged. How was he supposed to apologize and grovel if Draco wouldn't even face him? Zabini gazed at him without blinking for several long minutes.

"It's not my decision," he said finally. "Draco told me to get rid of you so I'm afraid you have to go, Golden Boy."

Harry shook his head. This was already going so different from how it was supposed to, and Harry hadn't even said a word to Draco yet.

"Look," Blaise sighed, "I'm not sure what happened, but maybe just give him some time, all right?"

That got Harry's attention. "What exactly did he tell you?"

"Not much," Zabini admitted. "We were at the match for the first goal but then left after Pansy got in a fight with some boy. Draco ditched us after a while saying he had to find you to ask you some question about some Defense assignment that doesn't actually exist. Next thing we know, he's slamming the entrance door and shouting at the first-years and it looked as if he had been _crying."_ From the way Blaise pronounced the word, it was clear that that was something he had never seen Draco do before. "He's pretty angry, Potter, I really don't think you want to speak to him right now. Just wait, yeah?"

Harry sighed sadly. "I'm not sure it'll matter much, really. He hates me."

Blaise shook his head slowly. "No, Potter, he really doesn't." His tone was thoughtful and serious. "I've been noticing you two for a while now; how long have you been together?"

Harry stared at him. Had Draco really not told his friends _anything?_ How much did the Slytherin in front of him know? Could he be trusted to keep silent? Even though Harry didn't want him to? He wanted to be with Draco and he wanted everybody to know it; he was tired of having to keep his feelings a secret. "A few weeks," he admitted. "Not too long after term started."

Blaise nodded. "So you'll have been together long enough to realize how distant he can be at times. He still hasn't told me or Pansy anything." His tone turned slightly frustrated as he added, "Even though he fucking could if he would just trust us."

Harry's stomach clenched. No, Draco didn't trust them—he didn't trust anyone and never would again, Harry knew. Harry had been the only person that Draco had trusted and he had betrayed that.

"Blaise, please," Harry's voice became desperate. "Please, let me inside. I need to find him, I need to explain, it's not what he thinks!"

Blaise only shook his head. "I'm sorry, Harry." He sounded regretful. "But he really would kill me. Did I mention he's not in the best mood at the moment?"

Harry's shoulders slumped in defeat and he nodded. "Well, will you give him a message for me, then?" Blaise considered for a moment before tipping his head in agreement. "Tell him that I'm sorry and it wasn't what it looked like and that I can explain if he'll let me and," Harry paused as he flushed bright red, "that I love him." Zabini raised one eyebrow at that but said nothing.

The sound of the stone entrance sliding smoothly open drew Harry's attention. Pansy Parkinson stood in the doorway and was currently glaring at Harry as if she wished for nothing more than another Voldemort to rise up just so she could offer Harry up to him again.

"Come inside, Blaise," she ordered sharply. Zabini smiled sadly at Harry before turning away to follow Pansy back inside.

 _Fuck._ Draco didn't want to see him, fine. Harry would find some way around that in order to speak to the blond. He headed back to the Tower and hoped fervently that his message was being delivered to Draco. Hopefully, Draco would agree to listen to Harry and allow him to somehow fix this. He _had_ to fix this.

oOo

Malfoy didn't leave his dorm all of Sunday.

Harry spent most of the day staring at the Map, watching the tiny dot in the tiny dorm room. Sometimes it was pacing, sometimes still, sometimes alone, and sometimes in the company of his fellow Slytherin eighth-years. The more Harry watched the dot, the more frantic he became. He couldn't talk to Malfoy and he couldn't explain things and he wasn't sure if Draco was okay or if he was eating or anything. Malfoy had terrified the rest of his House into ignoring Harry completely and no matter how much Harry pounded and swore at the stone entrance, nobody opened it to admit him. He tried lurking under his Invisibility Cloak to leap through the passageway the instant a student opened the door, but Malfoy knew all his tricks and the Slytherins were clever and cast a sort of shield around themselves as they entered or exited, leaving Harry with nothing to do but uselessly push against it in frustration and curse the fact that Draco had been sorted Slytherin and not a House a bit more forgiving, like Hufflepuff.

Why did he have to fall for a Slytherin? _The_ Slytherin? One who could terrify dozens of students into going to such lengths to bar Harry entrance? Part of it might have been their own personal dislike of Harry, he relented. Either way, they were hindering every attempt he made and he was eventually forced to give up for the time.

To his growing concern, he didn't see Draco at breakfast the next day, but the three Slytherins rushed into the Charms room right as class was starting, all three of them immediately heading for their usual seats in the back. Harry spent the class period studying Malfoy closely, trying and failing to catch his eye.

Malfoy looked exhausted; his eyes were puffy and tired, swollen-looking and ringed by dark circles. There were lines around his mouth and even his hair somehow seemed dull, as though it was Malfoy's mood that affected its luster. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on either his notes or the professor, completely ignoring absolutely everyone, even Parkinson as she whispered into his ear.

As he watched, Harry felt a twinge of annoyance at her proximity to the blond. Why did she feel the need to lean in so close? Her lips were practically _touching_ his ear and Harry was beginning to glare. Zabini glanced over at him for a moment before nudging Parkinson, who looked at Harry, gulped, and quickly sat back.

That's when it happened.

Draco's eyes seemed to flick automatically; he had felt Parkinson lean suddenly away and followed her line of vision to Harry's. The grey eyes met his own for a moment—half a second, really—but in that instant, Harry _felt_ something. A sort of charging pull buzzed through him as their gazes locked, leaving him with the urge to run to the blond in order to throw himself at his feet and beg forgiveness—anything, anything to chase the haunted look out of Draco's eyes.

The stare was broken an instant later and Harry was left feeling hollow.

The moment class was dismissed Malfoy fled, followed swiftly by his green-and-silver shadows. Harry wanted to kick the wall in frustration as lunch passed and the blond continued to evade him, and Potions was no better. Draco sat between his friends and concentrated on nothing but his cauldron. He was out the door and gone before Harry had even finished packing up and he knew it would be useless to attempt to follow him to the common room.

The next week passed in exactly the same fashion. Harry would approach, Draco would disappear. He was impossible to get close to, especially now that he was back in the constant company of Zabini and Parkinson.

It did not take long before Harry was desperate enough to break the promise he had made to himself after Hedwig died to never again use another owl and soon began borrowing different school birds to send Draco a letter at least once a day asking for the chance to talk and begging forgiveness. Not a single message was returned.

At Harry's insistent pleas, Ron and Hermione had both attempted to approach Malfoy as well but were met with similar results. The blond no longer wished to speak to any of them, and with his company went the company of the other two Slytherins. Harry was surprised to find himself missing the other two, even Parkinson's odd sort of half-presence.

One week turned into two, the passing days now shrouded in the same familiar colorless veil that Harry had grown so used to at the beginning of term. Then, the day before most of the school—with the exception of Harry and several others—were preparing to leave for Christmas break, Harry received a letter at breakfast. His morning post had slowed considerably now that his mail was being screened, the bulk being dealt with somewhere in the Ministry. His heart skipped as he wondered if it was finally a response from Draco.

Those hopes were dashed, however, as he opened it and did not recognize the handwriting.

 _Harry,_

 _I'm sorry for how things ended between us the last I saw you. I tried to give you your space but I think we should talk._ _I'm off for the season so I can Apparate up whenever you're free._ _Please._

 _Oliver_

He stared at the parchment for several long minutes before Hermione slipped it from his loose grasp and quickly scanned it. "Oh, Harry, tell me you're not going to meet with him," she sounded worried. Harry turned his stare to her. "Eventually Draco will calm down," she continued, "and you'll be able to explain."

He shook his head sadly at her words. "I dunno anymore, Hermione. I really don't think he'll ever speak to me again."

Hermione tsked. "Harry, by tomorrow afternoon the two of you will practically have the entire castle to yourselves. He won't be able to continue avoiding you without everybody else around."

Harry looked at her in surprise. "He's staying for the holidays?" They had never discussed the holidays, both skirting the topic deliberately. Harry had been invited to the Burrow, of course, but had politely declined. It was their first year without Fred and that on top of his breakup with Ginny had convinced him to remain at the school. He had had no idea of Draco's plans, though they made sense. Of course he was staying. Harry had thought he might want to go to France to spend it with his mother, but it made sense for him to stay. Or maybe the universe had decided it was back on Harry's side and was keeping the blond there in regards to Harry's good karma.

"And Parkinson and Zabini?" he asked hopefully.

"Last Blaise had mentioned, he was spending it with his mother and Pansy was going to Switzerland with her parents," Hermione answered with a smile. "He'll be here alone."

Alone.

No Slytherin guard, no frightened students terrified into bending to his will. Just Draco and Harry. And McGonagall and Trelawney and possibly one or two others, but he didn't care about any of them. Malfoy wouldn't be able to avoid him and Harry would corner him somehow and force him to listen and if he had to use a full body-bind on him then that is what he was prepared to do. He fully intended to spend Christmas with Malfoy and give him the gift he had purchased the week after they had started seeing one another. The item had been on display in the window of a tiny shop in Hogsmeade and the rest purchased through a Muggle catalog that Hermione had found. It was currently in Harry's trunk and had been there, wrapped for weeks, purchased early out of a fear of leaving his gift to the last minute and being left with hardly anything to choose from. And now he was determined to see it delivered.

But first, he needed to write Oliver back.

oOo

The next two days were spent waiting for Oliver to Apparate up from wherever he now resided in London. For someone who had promised he could _Apparate up whenever you're free_ , Wood sure kept Harry waiting. Malfoy had retreated into Slytherin territory completely, remaining hidden away in either his dorm or the empty common room. Harry was content to allow him to stay there for now; he wanted the confrontation with the blond to wait until after he had spoken to Oliver.

Wood finally arrived on the frozen steps of Hogwarts the crisp morning before Christmas Eve, clutching his broomstick and looking windswept. Harry met him in the Entrance Hall and they headed down the stairs to walk the winter grounds together, sun dazzling and bright against the miles of white snow.

Harry walked with his hands twisted together in the pocket of his Muggle hoodie, unsure of how to word what he needed to say. "So I got your letter…" he began uncertainly. He wanted this over with now so he could find Draco and tell him with absolute honesty that Oliver no longer held any doubts about where Harry's interests lie.

"And I got yours," Oliver interrupted. "And I was really glad that you asked me here."

Shaking his head, Harry reached out to pull Oliver to a stop. He needed to put an end to this _now._ "Look, Oliver, this isn't…" He took a deep breath. "I'm really sorry, but I'm not interested in you." There. He said it. He had told him and now he could find Malfoy and tell him that he had told him. Oliver Wood meant nothing to Harry and everybody needed to remember who it was that Harry had professed his love to in his dorm room. These past couple weeks had been absolute hell—he missed the blond so much he could practically _taste_ it, dusty and bitter on the back of his tongue. It was like when Draco had disappeared he had taken one of Harry's lungs with him, leaving Harry barely able to breathe and with a constant ache in his side.

But standing in front of Oliver and telling him as clearly and directly as he was able to that there was no chance of anything happening between them made him feel slightly better about his mistakes—it felt like he was finally working on correcting them. The feeling trailed off into guilt at the look on Oliver's face.

"Well, I mean, I know that you ran away after I kissed you, but I guess I was hoping that it was just nerves or something. You feel nothing for me?" His hazel eyes were wide and earnest and Harry felt even guiltier as he shook his head and shrugged apologetically.

"Sorry, Oliver, no. You can have the broomstick back, all right?"

But Oliver just shook his head and sighed, looking defeated for a moment before he crossed his arms and pinned Harry with a stony stare. "It's not because of Malfoy, is it?" Harry choked. How had he known? "I do have eyes, you know, Harry," he continued, voice slowly hardening. "I saw the way he was looking at you on the pitch and I saw him watching us kiss after the match."

Harry gaped at him. "You _saw_ him? You saw him watching and suspected we might be together and decided to _kiss_ me?"

Oliver's shoulders jerked up in a defensive shrug. "I didn't think you two were _together,_ more like he was obsessed with you and embarrassing himself by following you around. I mean, honestly Harry, the two of you? It's laughable. Have you forgotten who he _is?_ You can't trust him. He's a _Death Eater!"_ The final two words were punctuated with sharp jabs of one index finger as if to underline the importance of the man's statement.

"He made a mistake!" Harry snarled. "He's not a bad person!"

"Harry, what did he do to you?" Wood's anger drained and he suddenly looked concerned. "Don't you remember? It's _Malfoy._ Son of Lucius, You-Know-Who's best fucking mate? You hate him; everyone's always known how much you two hate each other. Harry, he fucking tried to _kill Dumbledore_! He nearly killed Katie and Ron, for Merlin's sake!" His fist tightened and he took a step forward. "Our friends! He nearly killed your _best_ friend! Before he helped kill Dumbledore and set his Death Eater friends loose in the castle!"

The world swam red before Harry's eyes; he could feel himself trembling with rage and, gritting his jaw, he stood silent and furious, waiting until he was finally able to speak in a steady voice. "He made mistakes. Voldemort was threatening his family and he was scared, who the fuck wouldn't be? In spite of all that, he still saved my life and did more to end this war than most others, including yourself, Oliver. It was because of him and the part he played in everything that I was able to defeat Voldemort. So stop talking about things you know _nothing_ about because nothing you say is going to make the slightest bit of difference. I love him and I really don't give a shit what you have to say about it. Let me know if you change your mind about the broomstick." Without waiting for a reply, he spun around and stomped back up to the school. It certainly could have gone better, but it was over now. Oliver Wood could again be forgotten and he could return his focus entirely to Draco once more.

Pulling the Map from his pocket and tapping it with his wand, his eyes began automatically to search the dungeons. There was Draco Malfoy's dot, all alone and ensconced yet again in the Slytherin Common Room.

 _That's fine_ , Harry thought as he tucked the Map away and pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his bag. _I can wait._

oOo

The waiting took several hours.

For several boring hours, Harry sat across the hall from the stone entrance like a statue. A grumbling, complaining statue. Twisting the kinks from his back yet again, he groaned and rubbed his spine. Fuck, was Draco _ever_ going to leave?

Just as Harry was beginning to lose all feeling in his lower body, he heard the stone of the entrance slide open and shot to his feet, swaying dizzily as the blood suddenly rushed through him with an alarming effect on his vision.

Poking his head out, Malfoy glanced cautiously up and down the corridor before stepping out into the hallway with quiet footsteps and striding quickly away. Harry stared after him for half a second before dashing inside the passageway just as the stone door slid shut.

Straightening up, he strolled through the passage and looked around in interest, comparing it to the room he remembered from his second year. Everything was dark stone and green-and-silver silk. The water rippling past the glass of the windows glowed with a strange turquoise gleam and Harry noticed several things swim past that he did not know the names of. All of the furniture in the room was black. At waist-level were ebony tables lit by pools of muted green light cast by emerald-shaded lamps. There were large tapestries of green serpents hanging from the walls above the main fireplace.

Striding to a black leather sofa, Harry sank down onto it with a grateful sigh, glad to no longer be sitting on a stone floor. Draco had probably just gone to the kitchens and would be back soon enough, where he would enter and unknowingly lock himself in with Harry and then they would talk—Harry was determined. They would talk.

After only a quarter of an hour had passed, Harry heard the entrance sliding open and Draco's footsteps ringing along the stone passageway. Hastily throwing the cloak back over himself, Harry stood and crossed the room silently to stand by the doorway. Seconds later Malfoy entered with a small plate of eclairs balanced on the fingertips of one hand, heading automatically to the armchair closest to the fire, where a book lay on the low table nearby.

Harry whispered several locking spells at the exit before taking a deep breath and removing his hood. "Draco," he began softly but was interrupted by the sharp sound of glass breaking. Malfoy had dropped the plate of eclairs and was staring at Harry with wide eyes before his gaze suddenly narrowed dangerously as he clenched both fists.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Potter?" He glared hard at Harry. "This common room is for Slytherins—which you decidedly are not. I know it's much nicer than that garish place _you_ call a common room, but the tour ends now. You found your way in, you can find your way out, so kindly _fuck off."_

As Draco spoke Harry removed the cloak completely and tossed it aside. "No," he interrupted firmly. "Not until we talk and you let me explain and you actually listen." Draco's eyes flashed and his hand twitched like he was fighting the urge to whip out his wand. "Draco, please," Harry said softly, both hands raised palm out to show Malfoy that he meant him no harm. "I just want to explain."

"Well, that's too bad, Potter, because I don't want to hear any fucking explanations from you." Malfoy crossed his arms and Harry had to remind himself that looks could not _literally_ kill and that Draco's glare was not actually going to injure him.

"Draco," Harry spoke louder. He could be much more stubborn than the Slytherin; he would get everything he came to say out if it killed him. "I did NOT kiss Oliver Wood!"

Draco's teeth snapped and his face turned an angry pink. "I fucking _saw_ you, Potter! So spare me your lies and your false explanations and please, as I requested earlier, fuck off!"

Harry shook his head. "You're still not listening to me and I'm afraid I can't leave until you hear what I need to say." Taking a deep breath, he hurried to speak before Malfoy could tell him to fuck off again. "Oliver kissed _me,_ Draco, I swear it! I did NOT kiss him back and I am NOT interested in him! You're the ONLY person that I want to be with and I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for hurting you like that, but I won't ever make you feel you can't trust me again, all right, not ever again!" As he spoke he started drifting forward unconsciously and found once his words stopped that he was much closer to Malfoy than he had originally been.

An icy, glaring Malfoy still looking murderously angry. "I told you," his words whipped out low and harsh. "I told you that he had feelings for you and I told you that he would make a move and you _didn't fucking listen_! You dismissed everything I said as foolish insecurity spurred by jealousy. Even _after_ I asked you to stay away from him!"

"But then you gave me permission!" Harry cried. "You _told_ me to go, you practically insisted!" And maybe Harry should have ignored that concession, but he hadn't thought it would lead to any of _this._

"And then," Malfoy continued as if he hadn't heard him, "then you accept that _fucking_ broomstick RIGHT in front of my face! Was that payback, Harry? For the 2001's all those years ago?" His voice turned cold and mocking. "Did the two Gryffindors laugh about finally paying me back for when I 'bought my way onto the team'? I'm sure many people find it quite amusing that I can no longer afford a broomstick—divine retribution, yes?"

Harry shook his head quickly. "No, Draco! Christ, I didn't even want to accept the stupid thing! I had told Oliver no, and then you showed up and you were both just _insisting_ and so I took it even though no, I really shouldn't have, but he had already had my name engraved on it and then you were fucking telling me to take it and I could see that you were upset, but honestly, _what else was I supposed to do_?" He realized belatedly as his voice echoed around the large, dreary room that he was shouting.

"I don't like being forced into anything," Harry lowered his voice. "I felt trapped into accepting a gift I didn't want and I was angry and so I'm sorry that I left like that and I'm sorry that I took the broomstick and I'm sorry for all of it because I never meant to hurt you and I never wanted any of this to happen." He dropped his gaze to the floor and scuffed his shoe nervously. "I love you, Draco."

Malfoy was silent and Harry finally peeked up to find him breathing heavily, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose and eyes closed, attempting to regain control over whatever emotion had him in its grip.

When he spoke, however, his voice was steady and calm. "Be that as it may, Potter, it explains neither what you were doing alone with Wood nor why you failed to shove him away if what you profess about having no interest in him is to be believed."

"He cornered me after the match. I thought he was just saying goodbye and then heading back to London since the season is over, but he kissed me and I panicked and froze and I should have pushed him away, I really should have, but he had me pinned before I got free and ran away and I'm _sorry,_ Draco, I'm so fucking sorry and I know you're angry and I don't deserve another chance, but I love you and I miss you and if you'll let me I'll start making it up to you right now." The words tumbled from Harry's mouth in a single breath and he felt slightly dizzy once he stopped speaking.

"I spoke to him today," Harry admitted once he caught his breath, but hastened to continue as he saw the shutters in Malfoy's eyes immediately slam back into place. "I told him that I wasn't interested in him and never had been. I also…" He blushed but looked Draco directly in his grey—so very, very grey—eyes and said, "I told him that I love you."

The blond's countenance softened, just for a moment, but it was enough time for Harry to step even closer until they were almost touching. It had been what felt like centuries since he'd last touched Draco and just being this near the man had his heart hammering fiercely and the _whoosh_ ing sound of blood rushing through his ears.

"I love you, Draco," he repeated softly, reaching out to lightly brush his fingertips against the skin of Malfoy's trembling hand. "I love you and I want to be with you." Draco was silent and Harry took that as encouragement, becoming bolder, twining their fingers together and caressing Malfoy's palm with his thumb. "You're the only one that I want."

Had the other boy's lips always been so pink and perfect? They were parted slightly and Harry could hear the quick puffs of breath Draco was taking. Harry raised the hand not wrapped around Draco's palm to sweep the blond fringe tenderly from the other boy's forehead before gently tangling his hand in the silky locks.

A sort of half-sob wrenched itself from Malfoy's throat and he squeezed his eyes shut. "These past two weeks," he breathed, shaking his head as though attempting to rid himself of painful memories, "have been absolute hell."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I plan to make that up to you, though." And with those words, he said a quick prayer before gingerly pressing his lips to Draco's. He had barely allowed himself to hope that Draco would kiss him back, but he had been mostly sure that he was going to be immediately hexed.

Instead, a wild gasp tore from Malfoy's throat and arms shot up to wrap around Harry's waist. They were suddenly pressed tightly together and Harry's lips were parted and Draco's tongue was in his mouth and his hands had moved to cup the blond head delicately in place. Malfoy shifted and moaned, deepening the kiss and clinging to Harry with a frightening desperation.

They kissed for minutes, hours, days, maybe, Harry wasn't sure, but all too soon Draco was pulling back and exhaling shakily. "I missed you." He was breathless and sounded cautious, as though he wouldn't allow himself to believe just yet that Harry was really there—something Harry intended to thoroughly convince him of.

"God, Draco, I missed you so much," Harry admitted, pressing kisses along the skin of his jaw. "So fucking much. Every day. Every minute. Even when I sleep, I dream about nothing but you."

A light shiver raked Draco's frame and his fingers tightened on Harry before he was suddenly returning Harry's kisses with a fervor that had Harry gasping and melting against the man's chest and even though the kisses left him dizzy from the lack of oxygen, he felt as if he could actually breathe for the first time in weeks. His lung had been returned to him and he felt healed in a way that he had never imagined feeling after being parted with someone. Draco drew in a deep breath with ease as if reading Harry's thoughts and echoing his sentiments.

"You know, you really don't make it easy to track you down," Harry panted.

Draco shrugged and squirmed against him. "Yeah, sorry—you know, for not listening to you or anything." Harry was sure he had never heard the blond more uncomfortable than when he was apologizing. "And for pressuring you to take the stupid broomstick. And for avoiding you and threatening my Housemates if they even so much as _thought_ about helping you gain entrance. And for—" His words were cut off as Harry interrupted with a kiss. Hearing the blond apologize was just too strange, even if he had only actually used the word _sorry_ once.

"It's fine, Draco, it's all right," he muttered against Malfoy's lips, but then hesitated and pulled back to look him in the eye. "We're all right, aren't we?"

Malfoy smiled. Really more like only the very corners of his mouth turned up, but Harry knew it was a smile and knew it was for him alone. "I think we will be, yes," he sighed as he laid his head down on Harry's shoulder and leaned against him. Harry stroked his back tenderly, trying to convey through touch how precious he thought the boy in his arms and how much he meant to Harry.

Their breathing synchronized and slowed. Harry wasn't sure how long they stood like that, wrapped around one another, silently conveying their emotions through physical contact alone.

Finally, Malfoy lifted his head. "We missed dinner," he sighed and Harry shrugged.

"Wasn't hungry anyway."

Draco fixed him with a stern look reminiscent of McGonagall's "headmistress" face. "Harry James Potter, you've hardly eaten anything at all these past few weeks. You're _going_ to eat dinner."

"How do you know how much I've been eating?" Harry asked curiously. He had never—with the exception of the first day of Charms class after the _incident—_ seen Malfoy so much as glance in his direction. Ron and Hermione had confirmed that they, too, had not witnessed the blond look towards him. Had he really been secretly watching? Had he been secretly concerned for Harry's well-being?

Harry felt warmth trickling through his stomach, spreading outwards through his limbs, leaving his fingertips tingling. "Nevermind," he grinned. "Let's go get dinner." He stepped back and offered Draco his palm, holding his breath and not exhaling until Draco's fingers slid into his.

A dizzying moment of terror had struck him: what if Draco refused his hand? What if this was his revenge on Harry after all these years? After all, it had been Harry who had declined his hand and rejected his offer of friendship first. Was this going to be his payback?

But the next second Malfoy's palm was warm against his own and those fears had vanished just as quickly as they arrived. They strolled to the kitchen leisurely, holding hands and trading smiles. Draco laughed and Harry's breath caught and he wondered how he had survived these past torturous weeks without the blond. Weeks of not seeing his eyes flash with rage or lust, not hearing his dry wit and biting sarcasm, or feeling his long fingers gliding over his skin. They had lost so much time and had too much making up to do, something that Harry decided to begin immediately, surprising Malfoy by turning him by the shoulders and pressing him firmly against the wall before whispering his name and kissing him breathless. Draco whimpered and responded and the trip to the kitchen took quite a while.

The return trip was much quicker, however, due to the large trays of food they were both levitating. The house-elves had piled dish after dish into their hands until Harry and Draco could no longer carry them all and instead had to wait as large silver trays were fetched and loaded up with steaming platefuls of food. The tray Draco was floating was piled high with chocolates and desserts and he had claimed it immediately as his to take.

By the time they got back to the Slytherin Common Room, lowered the trays and removed the lids to begin eating, Harry was feeling ravenous and tore into the meal with an enthusiasm that would have made Ron proud. Draco ate more slowly, more politely, but swallowed just as much food as Harry.

Finally, most of it was gone and they found themselves lying tangled together on the most comfortable couch, lazily feeding each other desserts and occasionally exchanging chocolate-flavored kisses. Harry rested his weight on one elbow, leaning over Malfoy and stealing a kiss before lowering a thick strawberry into his mouth, watching in fascination at the way Draco bit it slowly, tongue running over his lips to capture any juices as he chewed with half-lidded eyes before swallowing smoothly. How had Harry never before noticed how erotic strawberries were? The tips of Draco's teeth were impossibly white against the deep red of the fruit and it made Harry's heart race. God, was there anything more beautiful or enticing than Draco Malfoy?

Using one finger, he tilted Draco's chin up to meet him in a kiss. He could taste the sweetness of the juice from the strawberry on his lips and the rich chocolate on his tongue. Without breaking the kiss, they shifted on the couch until Harry was lying fully atop him, one thigh tucked snugly between Draco's own. The kisses were languid and relaxed but soon began increasing in intensity as Harry felt the blood rushing lower through his body and felt an unmistakable bulge in response against his hip.

"Draco…" he murmured. They should probably stop. They should stop and wait. Wait until their relationship was once again secure and Harry had earned back Draco's trust.

Stopping was becoming increasingly more difficult, however, as Draco's hands slipped beneath Harry's t-shirt to rest warmly on the cool skin of his back. "Draco," he tried again, but his breath caught as Malfoy turned his hips into Harry's more fully and began rocking upward, which was just the most brilliant thing Harry could think to be doing and _fuck_ that felt so good and amazing and Draco was amazing and with a start Harry pulled back to look the blond in the eye. "Draco, stop." For a moment Harry felt like everything was too bright and shook his head to clear it.

When his vision dimmed to normal, he glanced down at Draco, who was lying very still beneath him looking insecure and hurt. "Stop?" His voice was tiny and confused and Harry instantly berated himself for not foreseeing his stupid choice of words.

"No! I mean, I want to. God, you have no _fucking_ idea how badly I want to, but maybe we should wait."

"Ah," Draco's voice cleared and was now tinged with understanding. "You're doing the gentlemanly thing. The Gryffindor thing. You're suggesting we wait until I feel I once again trust you, yes?"

Harry shrugged and jerked his head once in a nod, not admitting that he also wanted to wait until he felt he could trust himself again as well—trust himself not to hurt Draco; wait until he trusted himself to be the type of person that Draco deserved.

The same Draco who was currently smiling up at him and who had retightened his hold. "Stupid Harry," he admonished fondly. "Remember how you're half-Slytherin? Stop being such a fucking _Gryffindor_ all the time." The word rolled from Malfoy's tongue distastefully, but he stared up at Harry with a very serious expression. "I am quite capable of making my own decisions and have done so in regards to the situation. I love you and I want you and I want us to be together right now and…I'm asking you to make love to me, Harry." He bit his lip shyly, and Harry felt dizzy. Make love? To Draco? Now? All the blood seemed to have fled his brain to pool somewhere much lower and was that a ringing he heard?

Shaking his daze, he looked back to Draco and his lips parted and he found himself responding with the only word he seemed capable of saying after a request like that: "Okay."

Draco exhaled in relief and smiled before pulling Harry back down for a kiss and it was like fireworks set in slow-motion. It felt as if time slowed and everything became astoundingly clear; Harry was aware of every inch of Draco lying beneath his body, every slow slide of his tongue against his own, the delightful tickle of Malfoy's hands running over his back. The next second Harry's shirt had been tugged over his head and Malfoy's had been removed and discarded as well and their bare chests were touching and it felt like sparks were crackling along their skin everywhere they touched, lighting his nerves on fire, and he had never been more aroused in his life and he needed Draco _right now_ but he paused a second as he pulled back to breathe.

"Don't you think we should move this to your room?" Harry panted and was pleased to find Draco just as breathless when he responded.

"Why? We have the entire dungeon to ourselves."

"Yes, but I think we should be in your bedroom. In a bed." He glanced around and grimaced. "I don't mind our first time being in the dungeons, but the Slytherin Common Room?" A shudder wracked his frame. "It's no better now than it was in second year."

"When were you in the common room in second year?" Malfoy asked with interest.

"Oh, er, nevermind," Harry said weakly. Draco's eyes narrowed and he looked about to speak but Harry began pressing open-mouthed kisses across the skin of his throat and he groaned instead.

"Bedroom is too far," the blond breathed, tipping his head back in encouragement of Harry's attentions. Harry chuckled and sat up, pulling the protesting blond to his feet and allowing him to lead Harry down another stone passageway. At the very end was Malfoy's room, and the moment the door opened Harry was staring around with interest—he had never been in Draco's bedroom before. It was nearly identical to his own, with the same basic shape and furniture placement; there were two beds—one supposedly Blaise's—that stood facing each other against opposite walls, the canopy a deep green and the bedding varying shades of silver. Heavy trunks lay at the foot of both beds and there were matching desks near each mattress, next to similar black wardrobes. It might have been Harry's room exactly if not for the different color schemes and the matter of the clutter. The Slytherins' dorm was impeccably clean. The beds were made and all books were stacked orderly atop the cleared desks, not a single article of clothing was strewn anywhere, and the wardrobes were both neatly shut. The trunks were closed tight and Harry was certain that whatever was still inside was folded and organized.

As he noticed Draco fidgeting off to the side he realized he'd been peering silently around for too long and turned to fix Malfoy with an even stare. "Lube?"

Draco relaxed with a chuckle and pulled an opaque glass bottle from a drawer in his nightstand, handing it to Harry, who felt suddenly nervous. He still didn't know what he was doing—he still might hurt Draco. The blond seemed to sense Harry's doubt because he stroked his cheek lightly before bending to press a kiss to the hollow of his throat, hovering there a moment before beginning to trail kisses further and further down Harry's torso, kissing the muscles of his stomach and around his belly button until Draco was on his knees and his mouth was hovering just above the waistband of Harry's jeans. Malfoy cupped him through the denim with a smile and Harry's breath caught.

Not wanting to wait for Draco to ask permission, Harry unfastened his trousers and shoved the rest of his clothing down to his calves. Malfoy's eyes widened but he helped Harry step out of the fabric and allowed his own remaining clothing to be removed. Harry kissed Malfoy and steered them toward the bed, feeling triumphant when the back of the blond's legs hit the mattress and they were suddenly horizontal. The glass bottle was still clutched in Harry's hand and he sat up to unstop it, thighs on either side of Draco's naked body, twisting and squirming and panting and deliciously hard for him.

The stopper was finally worked loose before Harry hesitated. He knew how this was done, Draco had described the process to him weeks ago, something which had left both boys extremely hard and resorting to enthusiastic handjobs. It was now time to test that knowledge, and he knew what to do, but he was still nervous. He wanted Draco's first time to be amazing, incredible. Something they would both always remember and in ninety years when they were still together they could look back on their first time with fondness.

Draco's fingers lightly brushed Harry's cheek and he looked down into grey eyes. The instant their gazes locked Harry knew Draco trusted him and loved him and Harry loved him back and he could do this and it would be perfect for them both. With gentle hands he began to tug the blond's legs until Draco obligingly bent his knees, planting his pale feet flat on the mattress. Harry suspected it might be easier if Draco was lying on his stomach, but he wanted to be able to look Draco in the eye during their first time.

The lube was cold on Harry's fingers and he allowed it to warm before reaching down to tease Draco for a few moments before his fingers began ghosting over his pale thighs and past the crisp golden curls of his pubic hair, drifting lower and further back to cautiously insert one finger into Draco. It was tighter than he expected and the extreme constriction alarmed Harry.

He frowned, suddenly feeling doubtful that this would work, certain that he would hurt Malfoy in his attempts. But Draco shifted and Harry began to slowly move his finger, working it deeper into his body until it was buried all the way inside and was sliding in and out with ease. At the blond's encouraging whimpers, he added another and was startled when the body beneath him suddenly gasped and arched his back as Harry's fingers brushed over something within him.

After that he began stroking it as much as he could while adding a third digit until Draco was writhing and moaning and pleading with Harry, who moaned a reply and nodded, removing his fingers and shuffling forward until he was finally, _finally,_ pressing into Draco, who was gasping and twisting and clutching the sheets and Harry was afraid to move out of fear of hurting him, but Draco rocked his hips and groaned and Harry started to move and Draco felt so good, so goddamn fucking good, and Malfoy was chanting his name in time to the thrusts, his cries encouraging Harry to speed up and reach between them to stroke Draco's neglected erection.

With a cry and a shudder the blond threw his head back and arched his spine and watching him triggered Harry's own release and he shouted Draco's name hoarsely before collapsing forward to land heavily atop him. They lay still and panting for several minutes, catching their breath and waiting for their heartbeats to slow.

Malfoy's pale arms rose to wrap around Harry's back and he could feel the uncomfortable prickle of a cleaning charm being cast over the both of them before the blankets were tugged up and Harry's face was tucked into Malfoy's neck. Harry snuggled into the warmth feeling happy and sleepy and content and fell asleep smiling.

oOo

Grey eyes were watching him warmly when he woke the next morning. There was a small smile playing around the corners of Draco's mouth and his gaze was sleepy and unguarded where his head lay on the pillow.

Deciding that he had never been more in love with Draco than in that moment, Harry leaned forward to capture that soft sleepy mouth in a kiss, but was stopped by Malfoy's hand until he had cast breath freshening charms over them both. And Harry had to admit, it really was much nicer that way.

As they kissed their bodies quickly began to wake up, more instant and localized as the press of lips and wandering touches continued. Harry was worried that Malfoy might be sore after the previous night, but the blond insisted he was fine and reached down to grasp Harry with a firm hand, effectively shutting up any complaints the brunet might have had about waiting.

Summoning the lube, he reached down to stretch Draco without once breaking the kiss, fingering him open with patience until Draco was whining and pleading softly into his mouth. Rolling them both onto their sides, Harry curled himself around Draco's body, wrapping one arm around his waist and using the other hand to line himself up. He pressed a kiss to Draco's shoulder before beginning to rock into him in small, gradual movements, taking his time, wanting it to last the entire morning. They made love slowly and amorously, bathed in the aquamarine glow cast by the gentle ripples of the tranquil lake undulating peacefully past the windows. Tiny specks of light reflected in the water danced across the pale surface of the grey walls, and Harry even thought he saw a mermaid swim past the glass, but he had no brain function left to focus on anything happening outside of the room.

Everything in his world was narrowed down to center entirely on Draco. Everything in his life was Draco and Draco was everything he felt and every word that fell from his lips was _Draco._ And everything about Draco was perfect. The way his golden hair, darkened and damp with sweat, fell so enticingly into his eyes, or the way he would bite his lip in an attempt at keeping himself quiet, or all the tiny gasps and sharp intakes of breath he would take. There had never been anyone more beautiful and Harry would never let him go, not for anything.

They lay together afterward in a tangled heap, warm and relaxed and content, Draco's head on Harry's shoulder and his body draped diagonally across his entire torso.

"I'm hungry, Harry," Malfoy hinted and Harry hummed in agreement. Food would be nice. "But I'm also _exhausted_ and don't want to leave the bed yet."

Harry fought back a grin at the pout in Draco's voice. "So you want me to go fetch it for you?"

Draco lifted his head and flashed a dazzling smile. "It would be ever so kind of you if you did; you would be an absolute _darling."_

Harry laughed and nuzzled further into Draco's warm body. "But I'm also exhausted and don't want to leave the bed."

Draco hummed as his fingers began lightly tracing patterns across Harry's chest. "How about a trade then?" Harry's head lifted—he was listening. "How about you go and fetch me a big lovely breakfast from the kitchens, and afterwards, I'll let you fuck me again?" Draco's voice was low and throaty and made Harry's breath catch.

His limbs, however, were heavy and lethargic and he decided that maybe a different trade would be in order. "How about," his voice was slightly husky and Draco's breathing quickened, _"you_ go and fetch a big lovely breakfast for the _both_ of us, and afterwards I'll let _you_ fuck _me?"_

Malfoy stared at Harry silently for several moments before springing from the mattress and leaping across the room to one of the black wardrobes, where he hastily threw on a black t-shirt and dark cotton pants. Stepping back to the bed, he kissed Harry quickly and murmured, "I like your trade best," against the brunet's lips before stepping away and closing the door softly.

With a smirk, Harry closed his eyes. He had nearly fallen back to sleep when a loud crack split the silence and made him jump. A large square table was now sitting in between the two beds, set for two and piled with dishes. Harry had just pulled on a borrowed pair of silk pajama pants and taken a seat at one of the place settings when Draco slipped back into the room and took the chair opposite him.

They ate fruit and buttery toast and large, fluffy waffles dripping with syrup and covered in whipped cream. There were eggs and muffins and perfectly crisped bacon and Harry ate so much he thought he might be sick.

Once they were finally both full and the table had disappeared with another deafening crack, they snuggled back under Draco's blankets and slept for several hours in each other's arms, both smiling and content after the recent weeks of fury and anguish.

oOo

His body felt warm and pleasant, and Harry thought he felt something tickle across the skin of his abdomen, below which was a delicious pressure. Blinking awake, he squinted down his body to find Draco staring up at him from between the v of his legs, pale lips wrapped around Harry's erect cock, and he quickly decided that there was no better way of waking up than the feel of Malfoy's hot tongue sliding all over him. But he tugged Draco away before he could get too lost in the feeling, pulling him up for a kiss and fulfilling his end of the deal they had made before breakfast.

Being made love to by Draco was an experience that Harry could only describe as spiritual—Draco's every movement was appreciative and sensual, every caress against Harry's flesh affectionate, undemanding, _worshipful._ There was a quiet reverence to the way Draco touched him, something that made Harry's head swim and breath catch. It felt as if every centimeter of his body was receiving all of Draco's undivided attention, pale fingers stroking him everywhere so gently, so softly, tender kisses pressed along every inch of flesh they could find, every single one a silent promise of love, leaving Harry with a warm burning in his eyes and deep within his chest.

It was the first time he had ever been touched in such a way in his life, ever been looked at with such absolute veneration. Warm affection was pouring from the silver eyes gazing down at him so openly, so sincerely. Never before had Harry dreamed that anything could feel so _good,_ so _right,_ but being with Draco made him feel complete in ways he had never imagined, filling empty slots he had not even known he had been missing.

When Draco finally entered Harry they both groaned, and Harry felt his toes curl in pleasure as Malfoy began rocking, his every movement sending sizzling sparks shooting through Harry's blood and along every inch of skin, causing him to gasp and writhe and moan Draco's name repeatedly, the word falling from his lips with the same piety used by others to intone psalms or utter prayers. There was a burning, fiery feeling spreading through him, scorching waves of pleasure radiating throughout his entire body in increasing ripples of intensity, building and building until his vision turned white and his back arched off the bed as he came with a cry.

Only seconds later, Draco came as well, pale lips continuing to seek every inch of Harry's body they could find for the entirety of his release. Quiet endearments were whispered into the warm skin of Harry's throat where Draco's head rested against it, lips trailing along his neck just lightly enough to give him shivers.

A non-verbal cleaning charm was cast over the both of them by the blond, who took advantage of no longer being sticky with sweat and semen to fit himself snugly behind Harry's body, the brunet seeming to fit perfectly within his embrace. They fell asleep wrapped around one another, both feeling happy and content. Harry had never felt more at peace in his life, and even as he drifted off into unconsciousness, the smile never faded from his face.


	7. Chapter 7

Christmas morning found Harry still in Draco's bed, still wrapped around Draco. Rubbing his eyes and wishing for coffee, Harry sat up slowly before noticing two piles of presents waiting at the foot of their bed—the house-elves had apparently known to deliver all his gifts to Malfoy's room. He stared at the boxes and felt a twinge at how much larger his own pile was when compared to Malfoy's. Having celebrated far too many birthdays and holidays with Dudley, Harry knew how many gifts his spoilt cousin had both expected and received, and Harry was sure that that did not come anywhere close to the extravagance of the Christmas mornings that Draco was used to.

Malfoy took advantage of Harry's distraction to wrestle him flat against the mattress and pin him down with his slim body, a wicked glint in his silver eye as he murmured, "Happy Christmas," before slithering lower and swallowing the Gryffindor to the root. The instant Harry came and had finally stopped moaning and shaking, he flipped them both over and returned the favor with enthusiasm.

So far, it was the best Christmas he had ever had, and they still hadn't even opened the presents.

After both boys had cleaned up and pulled pants on, they began happily sorting multicolored gifts, trading glances before each choosing a brightly-wrapped box to tear into. A familiar squashy package was the first thing Harry opened, tearing into it knowingly. With a smile, he automatically tugged the hand-knitted sweater from Molly Weasley over his head, grinning down at the large ruby H now adorning his chest. The desserts she had sent with it were already currently being eaten by a beaming Draco, who smiled happily up at the brunet through a mouthful of treacle tart, and Harry snorted before turning his attention to the pile of presents still awaiting him.

Excitement mounting, he began ripping the wrapping paper off his other Christmas gifts eagerly, to discover that along with the sweater he had also received an assortment of joke items from George, a charmed amulet from Bill and Fleur, a large needle-sharp dragon's talon from Charlie, a wicked-looking black switchblade from Ron, and an assortment of books from Hermione—as well as smaller gifts from Luna, Neville, and Andromeda, whom Harry had already sent gifts for both Teddy and herself.

The more presents Harry opened, the more his considerable pile dwindled until finally, he came to one without a card. The shiny crimson paper was torn away with curious fingers only to discover a handsome leather photo album underneath, one that he opened to find a picture of his own face grinning back up at him. A tiny Ginny had her arm slung through his, nuzzling into his side as they stood leaning against a rail somewhere together; the next page was a picture of them locked in a fierce embrace after a victorious Quidditch match; the page after was of them sharing a kiss.

Frantically, Harry began flipping through the pages in a frenzy only to encounter picture after picture of him and Ginny, interspersed with the occasional photo of him with the rest of the Weasleys.

Who had taken all of these and how had he never seen most of them?

His heart began pounding violently and he slammed the book shut, not noticing the small card that fluttered to the floor from between the pages of the album.

But Malfoy noticed.

Picking it up curiously, he scanned the words in silence as Harry shoved the album roughly beneath his other presents before turning to find Malfoy watching him with a blank expression, a small square parchment clenched in his iron-tight grip.

"So let's see them, then." His voice was cool.

"Er, see what?" Harry's heart was still hammering furiously, increasing its pace as Malfoy handed the square parchment over without a word and raised one eyebrow in expectation. The close-set handwriting on the card was immediately recognizable.

 _Harry,_

 _I made this album for you ages ago and thought I would still gift it. I hope these pictures remind you of everything we once had, and everything we could have still. Please don't forget that you are a part of this family. You belong in these pictures._

 _I still love you and always will. You are my first love and always will be._

 _I miss you, and I know we can work past this. Please, Harry, remember how good we were together. Remember how much we cared for one another. You still mean everything to me._

 _Happy Christmas,_

 _Yours always,_

 _Ginny_

The inside of Harry's chest felt bruised from how hard his heart was beating against it. _Fuck._

"So let's see them, Potter," Malfoy drawled calmly, glaring at the card clenched tightly in Harry's fist. "The two of you make such a lovely couple, after all."

Wait! This wasn't Harry's fault! He didn't ask Ginny to send him those pictures; in fact, he hadn't expected anything at all from her this year—not when the awkward terms they were still on were taken into consideration.

"Draco," he held his hands up palm out, but Malfoy simply spoke over him, ignoring his protests.

"Let's see what the couple in love looks like, shall we? Are there any photos of you kissing?" His voice had taken on its old cold, sneering timbre, but Harry could hear panic lacing the words, the angry questions threaded with fear. "Or are they mostly just of you two holding hands and gazing adoringly at one another?"

Harry shook his head and opened his mouth. "Draco, I don't—"

"Let's see them then," Malfoy demanded loudly, cutting him off.

Harry shook his head again in a firm _no,_ causing Draco's eyes to flash.

"And why not?" he asked coldly.

Harry calmly locked gazes with him. "Because I'm not keeping it."

"But they're your memories." Draco's eyes narrowed further.

Harry shrugged. "I've already made better ones. With you." Malfoy said nothing, so Harry continued. "So, I'm not going to show you the album because I'm not going to look either. I know exactly what it was that I had with Ginny and I'm telling you for the hundredth time, Draco Malfoy, _it does not compare_." Malfoy's eyes glittered but he remained silent. "I didn't ask her to send this album and I honestly don't want it. Now, I don't regret having been with Ginny," Draco opened his mouth furiously and Harry hurried to continue, "but I don't want to be anymore! I'm with _you_ and I _choose_ you and I _want_ you and as we already discussed I'm _going_ to have you. I belong to you now, Draco," he finished simply, waiting.

A second later he was knocked onto his back from the force of the blond flinging himself into Harry's arms.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Draco apologized sheepishly into the Gryffindor's neck, tucking his face into Harry's throat and breathing deeply. "Fuck, I don't know why I keep _doing_ this! I don't mean to be so insecure all the time, I don't want to be, I swear! It's just that so many people want you and are constantly plotting to take you away from me and everybody is always just _looking_ at you and you're _mine_ and they need to remember who I am and that I am _not_ used to sharing anything, _especially_ the things I love the most in this world, and they need to remember that as a Malfoy I am entitled and possessive and really rather spoilt and I've been accused of being jealous and did I mention that I'm possessive?"

Unable to help it, Harry burst out laughing. "Do you have any idea how adorable you are?" he asked the blond teasingly, laughing harder as Malfoy huffed in disagreement.

"No Malfoy has ever, in any sense of the word, been anything as common as _adorable_ and I would advise you not to use that adjective in regards to my person again," he warned threateningly.

Harry chuckled but made no comment. _Fucking adorable,_ he decided.

Without warning, Malfoy smiled suddenly as he sat up and straddled Harry's hips. "Time to open each other's gifts," he announced.

"I thought you already gave me my present this morning?" Harry smirked in amusement. So far, it had been his favorite Christmas present to date.

Draco grinned and shook his head. "That wasn't a Christmas present, silly; that was just on account of it being a Wednesday."

Harry sniggered and raised himself up enough to reach behind Malfoy to lift the rectangular package from behind the slim teen's back. "Happy Christmas, love," he said cheerfully as he set the gift in Draco's lap, which was currently sitting on Harry's own.

Draco's eyes lit up as he happily tore into the shiny green paper. "Harry, it's beautiful," he breathed, turning the journal over and over in his hands.

 _Yes, it is_ , Harry silently agreed. The book was large and rectangular with thick, creamy paper and a hard leather binding. The journal was black and depicted a glowing night sky, with twinkling silver stars carved delicately into the leather charmed to display an ever-rotating view of the cosmos. The tiny, etched stars were constantly shifting and taking shape before separating and swirling around one another only to once again form themselves into varying constellations. Along with the journal, he had gotten Draco a large box of Muggle pencils and several different sized sharpeners, as well as a variety of fancy colored pens. Draco silently turned everything over again and again in his hands before leaning forward to press a kiss to Harry's mouth. "Thank you, Harry, it's perfect," he murmured. "Absolutely perfect."

"I'm glad," Harry smiled broadly against the other boy's lips, hot pleasure swooping through him at Malfoy's obvious delight, but then pulled back to look him in the eye. "By the way, why _do_ you write with Muggle pencils?"

"I discovered them shortly after first year began and found them much easier than a quill and ink. I have actually always thought of them as rather ingenious," Malfoy admitted with a smirk, the expression widening at the nonplussed look on Harry's face. Did Draco _Malfoy,_ pureblood and former extremist, just call a Muggle invention _ingenious?_ Did he just compliment _Muggles?_ Draco raised a silvery eyebrow at the bemused brunet. "Don't presume to know everything about me, Potter. I am a complex and multilayered individual."

Harry rolled his eyes in agreement. "I'm well aware."

Huffing, Draco ignored him as he balanced a small velvet box on Harry's chest. "I didn't wrap it or anything, sorry," he babbled, and it struck Harry that Malfoy was _nervous._

Leaning his weight on one elbow, Harry plucked the box from his chest and swallowed before opening the lid.

Inside, nestled between the deep navy velvet of the square box, was a small snake charm. The eyes of the creature were a deep emerald color, glittering brightly against the argent head they were set in. The body of the reptile was coiled gracefully together, pretty and delicate, the scales of the serpent a shining, glimmering silver, causing Harry's breath to catch as he peered at it closely in awe. It was beautiful, and Harry lifted it from the box with careful fingers to discover a small chain attached.

"A necklace?" he mused, studying it.

"A snake charm," Malfoy explained as he blushed bright pink, staring at the stone floor as he spoke. "I, um, got one with a lion." An identical velvet box appeared from behind the Slytherin's stack of unwrapped presents, and the lid was flipped open to reveal a burnished gold lion head staring proudly up at Harry with bright ruby eyes. "I thought we could maybe wear them, you know, if we both wanted to," Draco suggested carelessly, gaze still locked firmly on the floor and face a blazing crimson color, sounding as if it made no difference to him whether Harry wore the necklace or not.

Without a word, Harry held his out for Malfoy to take, whose eyes flashed with hurt for a moment before widening with pleasure as he realized that Harry had sat up and was asking the blond to put it on him.

Then it was Harry's turn to clasp the lion necklace around Draco's throat with a kiss and everything was perfect.

oOo

That night they finally showed their faces in the Great Hall for dinner, not bothering to cover their goofy smiles or worry about the fact that Draco was practically sitting in Harry's lap throughout the entirety of the meal.

When they first entered the Hall and approached the single table that had been set out for the small number of remaining students, McGonagall's eyebrows had risen comically as they neared, nearly disappearing into her hairline at the sight of the two boys holding hands and snickering to one another, and the other students had been even less subtle in their shock than the Headmistress. Mouths dropped open and forks clattered loudly against dishes as grips loosened in confusion.

Were Harry _Potter_ and Draco _Malfoy_ holding fucking _hands?_

A Ravenclaw second year giggled and broke the spell, snapping the stunned students from their momentary shock. McGonagall was the first to recover, mouth turning up in a smile as she warmly wished both boys a happy Christmas, beckoning the two to sit and help themselves to the feast. The food was delicious, and Harry had Draco to keep him laughing throughout the meal. They pulled crackers and swapped hats, laughing at the ridiculous head-coverings they both wore, and by the time they left the table hand-in-hand to head back to the dungeons, they were wearing matching smiles.

Harry had never felt happier in his life.

oOo

The rest of the holidays passed in a beautiful haze of Draco. The two hardly ever left the dungeons, preferring to spend all their time either naked in Draco's room or else in the Common Room lounging in front of the fire, talking and laughing, sometimes occasionally reading books or playing chess, but oftentimes they chose to pass the hours making love. Malfoy had "persuaded" Harry to break his ban on no sex in the Slytherin Common Room—something they had both gone slightly overboard with. There was now almost no surface in the Common Room that they had not had sex either on or against: pressed against walls, bent over chairs, lying on couches or atop various rugs—even several times in the narrow stone passageway leading to the entrance.

Then, the day after New Year's—a New Year's that Harry had found to be very enjoyable, indeed—the brunet received a letter of apology from Oliver, as had, to his eternal shock and everlasting surprise, Draco as well. Wood had written asking forgiveness from them both for making a move on Harry, as well as for the comments he had made about Malfoy. He also insisted that Harry keep the broomstick as a gesture of friendship, to which Harry simply shrugged and relented, deciding it would be much easier than trying to force the situation once again.

Pocketing the letter with a grin, Harry bent forward to coyly offer Draco the first ride on his brand-new broomstick. Malfoy colored slightly but smirked and nodded as he shoved Harry up against the nearest wall of the Slytherin Common Room. Any thoughts of Oliver Wood or the Flash were soon quickly forgotten.

oOo

By the time the holidays were over and the rest of the school had returned from break, both boys were resolved to no longer keep their relationship a secret, deciding to weather whatever consequences came their way together.

At first, the student body had trouble accepting it. They blinked and stared and pointed and whispered and a couple students even _shouted_ things the first day back from break when the two boys had been noticed entering the Great Hall holding hands. Malfoy raised an eyebrow in response, but it was the only reaction the students received until finally, after long minutes, the silence evaporated, and the regular chatter blanketed the room once more. Harry ate breakfast that morning at the Slytherin table, one arm wrapped comfortably around Draco's waist as the brunet joked and laughed with Blaise while Parkinson remained largely quiet, poking at her eggs and staring at him suspiciously out of the corner of her eye.

The next few days saw the castle bursting with gossip—students watched open-mouthed at even the tiniest displays of affection shared between Harry and Draco, sometimes even following them between classes in an attempt to get a peek. Vicious rumors began circulating about the validity of their relationship, many students coming to the conclusion that Malfoy must have cursed Harry into becoming involved with him because obviously, the Savior of the Wizarding World would surely _never_ fall in love with the Death Eater son of Lucius Malfoy if not for the use of Dark magic.

Every time they saw students glaring at the two of them and whispering, Draco turned away and tried to pretend that none of the remarks bothered him, but Harry could see the angry, hurt lines around his mouth and note how he would tense and hold himself stiffly when any gossipers were overheard discussing what potion they thought it was that Malfoy had somehow managed to slip Harry.

But while Draco was willing to allow the gossipers to spread their nasty rumors, Harry was much less controlled than his lover. He would leap around corners or bookshelves to confront anybody he overheard speaking negatively about his boyfriend, usually resulting in his echoed, furious shouts and once or twice in the accidental shattering of a window. Draco would stand behind him and eye Harry smugly whenever such a confrontation became particularly escalated.

For as many years as he had spent actively trying to make Harry Potter furious, it was so much better to be on the defending end of his anger.

Then finally, after Harry felt his point had been made, he would tuck Draco securely under one arm and, glowering at anybody who dared look at them, lead the smirking blond plastered at his side away from the scene.

The whispers and rumors of the student body were only further encouraged once the Daily Prophet caught hold of the story and began printing article after article of speculation about their relationship, some writers weaving a romantic tale of star-crossed lovers caught on opposite sides of a tragic war, others declaring Draco to be an unreformed Death Eater largely responsible for the murder of Albus Dumbledore. Some writers printed stories of Draco's life, in startlingly accurate detail. He was sent horrible letters and called vicious names and received countless Howlers, but through it all he kept his head high and clasped Harry's hand even tighter, seeming to square his jaw and challenge anybody to tear Harry from his grasp.

As more and more time passed, Harry began mentally sorting the other students he encountered into categories: which ones supported his relationship (admittedly the smallest category), which students didn't seem to care and were never overheard gossiping about it, which ones were simply curious, and which were openly hostile.

The number of the last category slowly grew smaller and smaller as time passed, students eventually turning their focus onto other matters and more current events, gradually whispering less and less until finally, a day came when Harry and Draco walked into the Great Hall holding hands and not a single person pointed or stared or wolf whistled. They sat and ate and nobody hissed in their direction.

Then one day—not too long after the day they had entered the Great Hall at breakfast to find not a single glare directed at them, after weeks and weeks of whispers—Ginny came to talk to Harry.

He was lying in his dorm room attempting to write a ten-inch parchment for Defense Against the Dark Arts when he was interrupted by a soft knock. Setting the assignment aside with a feeling of relief, he made his way to the door, wondering who was knocking. Maybe it was Neville or maybe Draco had sent another first-year to deliver a message to Harry, something he seemed fond of doing.

It was with surprise that he opened the door to find Ginny Weasley waiting for him, looking apprehensive but determined.

"Can I come in please, Harry?" she asked politely after several long moments of Harry silently staring at her.

"Er, I'm not sure, Gin…" He raked a hand awkwardly through his hair. "Ron's not here and he won't be back for a while, so…"

"I'm here to see _you,_ Harry. I just want to talk, I promise," she added quickly, holding up her hands palm-out as the corners of her lips twitched.

Relenting with a sigh, he nodded slowly and stepped back to allow her inside, where she immediately marched to Ron's side of the room and hopped up onto his desk before turning her attention back to him. "I got the photo album you returned," she told him, staring into his green eyes evenly, and he cringed at her words. The photo album had been sent back the day after Boxing Day, with a small card on which he had simply scribbled _Sorry._

"Yeah, I'm sorry, Gin." He tugged his hair in agitation. She wasn't still hoping that he wanted to recapture the emotions behind those pictures, was she? Had he not been clear enough? How could he possibly be any more direct?

But Ginny smiled a small smile and shook her head. "I don't mean for you to be sorry," she said kindly. "I just wanted to tell you…" she paused, and Harry waited. Tell him what? That she finally accepted that their relationship was over and was ready to attempt friendship once more? "That you look happy," she finished.

Oh. He looked happy? That made sense. He felt happy.

"I am," he told her softly and she nodded.

"I know. I didn't want to see it at first," she admitted, "especially since it was _Malfoy,_ you know?" The corners of her mouth turned down and Harry frowned but chose to overlook it as she continued to speak. "But I've been watching you these past few weeks and it's…it's like you're your old self again. You smile so much more now, and I've actually heard you _laugh_. More than once, even. I think…" She swung her legs and took a deep breath. "I think the two of you are good for each other."

Harry stared at her in shock. Good together? Were they? Of course he thought they were, but did Ginny think so too? Was she simply saying that?

No, Harry decided, as he studied her closely. There were teeth marks on her bottom lip from where she was chewing nervously, the tips of her ears had turned pink, and she was leveling him with a very serious stare.

"I just want you to be happy, Harry. And if…Malfoy," the word sounded slightly strangled, "is the one to make that possible, then I'm glad that you have him."

Harry said nothing, remaining silent as he marched forward to crush her into a tight hug. She seemed surprised for a second but quickly hugged him back. "Just promise that you'll stop avoiding me so much and I promise not to spread rumors about what you're like in bed behind your back, yeah?" she teased as she pulled away, ruffling his hair.

"Well, I, for one," a voice drawled from the doorway "would be very interested in hearing those particular rumors, especially seeing as how I am the one he's currently practicing said abilities with." Harry glanced up to see Draco leaning casually against the doorframe and glaring at the two of them.

"Hey, don't hex me!" Ginny cried as she snatched her hand out of Harry's hair. "I came with kind words for the _both_ of you. Tell him, Harry!"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed further in suspicion. "Words?" he echoed.

"Erm, yeah, Gin came to," Harry cleared his throat, "give us her blessing, so to speak. You know, to be together."

"Really." Draco's voice was flat.

She nodded. "I'd be an idiot to try and separate the two of you, Malfoy. I mean, good lord, just look at his face." She gestured to Harry, who had been staring at Draco with adoring eyes. Draco's expression softened as he turned to meet Harry's gaze, but Ginny continued speaking, drawing their attention back to her. "With the way you've both come out and some of the articles they've been printing, I figure the two of you have to be pretty serious about each other to put up with all that shit. I mean, it only takes eyeballs to see how much you both care for one another."

"So, you're saying that you no longer want Harry back?" Draco asked, continuing to eye Ginny suspiciously.

Ginny shook her head. "No, Harry and I are over and I accept that. You make him happy, Malfoy," she continued softly, "and he needs that. He _deserves_ that."

Draco nodded slowly and walked over to stand just behind Harry's shoulder. "I, well, thank you, Ginevra. That's very big of you," he said solemnly.

She grinned and stuck out her hand. "Sure, Malfoy, I'm quite the generous soul."

"Indeed." His tone was still amusingly formal as he wrapped his palm around Ginny's.

"But," her grip tightened as she pinned him with a steely look, "if you _ever_ hurt him, I will hex you in ways you've never _imagined._ Ways that will make your sixth year look fucking _tame_. Understood?" Brown eyes bore into grey and she refused to release him until Draco stated quite plainly that no, under no circumstances would he ever hurt, betray, or leave Harry.

"Good," she grinned, hopping off the desk and straightening her robes. As she prepared to leave, she paused long enough to rumple Harry's hair once more and mock punch Draco on the shoulder. "I'll see you two boys around then, yeah?" she called cheerfully over her shoulder as she left the room.

Draco turned to stare at Harry. "Well, I certainly was not expecting that." His tone was both surprised and amused. "I never thought I would say this, Harry, but I rescind all past comments and opinions of the Weaselette. Turns out she's not a bad sort, after all. However," his eyes narrowed, "that does NOT give you permission to begin spending time alone with her, understood?"

Harry smiled and nodded as he pulled Draco into his arms. "Of course, love," he breathed. "Anything you want."

oOo

Before anyone knew it, spring had blossomed into early summer and N.E.W.T.S. were upon them. Harry knew that his studying (or lack thereof) this past year had left much to be desired, but he felt as if he didn't do too horrible on the actual exams. The only test that he felt sure had been a disaster was Potions. After spending all of his first five years at school being both loathed and tormented by the professor, his sixth year relying on the Prince's shortcuts, all of seventh year hunting Horcruxes around England, and all of eighth year staring at Draco Malfoy and not even pretending to pay attention to the lectures had left him with a slightly less than firm grasp on the subject. It had been so long since he had correctly brewed a potion without any help from cheating books or his brilliant boyfriend that he was resigned to his failure before the exam even began. His potion ended up being much more tangerine colored and much less crimson than it was supposed to be, but he thought it was a valiant effort and handed it in with a sigh of relief.

And that was it. They were done.

Exams were over and the regular carefree post-exam summer feel fell in a sheet of excitement over the castle. Harry was glad the tests were done and school was almost finished with, but if he was being honest with himself, he was terrified. Suddenly he was finding himself perched on the very brink of adulthood, and he was surprised at how scared he felt at the thought. Now that he was finished with school, what would he do? Find a job? Settle down? Buy a house? He already owned a house, so that one wasn't a problem. But would he now be living there alone?

Over the past few weeks, he had been mulling over ways to ask Draco to move in with him and yet had been unable to pluck up the courage. Was that something Draco wanted? What if he turned Harry down? What if he moved to France with his mother? What if their relationship was somehow tethered to the castle, and once they were free of its shadows their fragile bond would deteriorate like smoke?

The what-if's faded gently from his mind as familiar arms wrapped around his waist, and he leaned back into Draco's smooth chest. "How do you think it went?" Draco asked softly, lips brushing the shell of Harry's ear and sending shivers through his body.

"As well as I expected, I suppose," Harry shrugged.

"And now it's over," Malfoy murmured.

It was over? Wait, what was over? School? Them? They couldn't be over, Harry would not allow it. He would not allow their relationship to fade away—he wanted Draco and he wanted him forever. He wanted to wake up to Malfoy's relaxed smiles and sleep-mussed hair every morning; he wanted to fall asleep wrapped around Draco's warm body every night. He wanted to have someone to come home to and wanted someone to come home to him and he wanted that someone to be Draco.

"Move in with me," he blurted without warning, and felt Malfoy's arms stiffen in surprise.

"Are you serious?" the blond asked in a low voice.

"Deadly," Harry answered as he spun around in Draco's embrace to face him. "Move in with me. Sirius left me a house in London." Malfoy was silent, and Harry continued quickly, "I mean, it's in a Muggle neighborhood and it needs to be redecorated _immediately_ and the house-elf is falling apart and tends to talk to himself quite a bit, but it's somewhere we can be alone just the two of us. I spent years cooking for my horrible relatives so I'm a fairly decent cook and I promise we won't starve. And I'm not sure yet what I want to do with my life, but I have loads and loads of gold so it's not really an immediate problem. All I know is that I love you and I want us to live together." Harry's eyes were bright and he was almost breathless by the time he finished speaking. He could imagine it all so clearly—the two of them redecorating and settling in, inviting friends over for dinner, relaxing together in front of the fireplace with a drink or two, making love in every room of the house. The last one would be item number one to accomplish on his post-graduation list of things to do.

Draco still hadn't responded. "Well?" Harry prodded cautiously. Had he been too hasty? Not thought this through enough? But the next second the blond had reached out and yanked Harry in close to meet his mouth in a bruising kiss.

"Of _course_ I will move in with you, Harry, you lovely perfect wonderful absolute _idiot."_

Harry felt light-headed for a few moments, dizzy and wobbly as though his skull had been filled with helium and had somehow lifted his entire body off the floor to drift up near the ceiling. He kissed Draco back and clung to him tightly in order to keep his helium-body from floating away.

"So that's decided then," Harry said happily. All the other decisions—the ones he hadn't yet made and did not yet know the answers to—could all wait. Everything could wait—everything else would be sorted in time.

After all, Harry had time. Finally, for what felt like the first time in his life, he had time to just breathe. He had time to just relax and enjoy the fact that he had _survived._ Both he and Draco had survived everything—all the horrors and the terrors and the dark lords. They were here and they were together and Harry knew that they could face anything as long as they had one another.

He looked at Draco and smiled, feeling blessed as the blond smiled fondly back. Harry had Draco and Draco had him and he was truly and perfectly happy.

It was all he wanted.


End file.
